tw1l1t3
by Georgasaurus
Summary: Twilight sucks. We know it and George knew it, too. However, after flaming the vengeful Stephenie Flyer, George finds himself in the place of Bella. Will he manage to get away from his homosexual vampire stalker, or will he be stuck in Hell forever?
1. In the Beginning

**Prologue: In the Beginning, there was George**

It was a dark and stormy night when George Dufresne signed into his laptop, bored out of his mind. He'd just read the end of Twilight, and was on the verge of committing suicide, it had been that bad. It was one of those books where the more you read, the more you wanted to gouge your eyes out and fire them into the Sun, but at the same time, keep on reading. George had hoped that halfway through Edward would turn to Bella with a big grin on his face and say,

"Just joking, bitch, I really wanted to lure you into the middle of a field full of flowers so no one would witness me tearing your throat out and cannibalising your body. I mean, who would suspect me? I'm your 'lover', LOL."

Then there would have been a big scene where the vampire would stalk the Mary-Sue, filling her last few moments full of fear and a realisation of what an idiot she was for trusting a monster, before promptly shanking her ass and feasting on her entrails.

You know, like vampires were _supposed_ to.

But alas, it was not to be. George had reached the end, perking up briefly at the choice Edward had to make: let his woman become a vampire whore, or eat her. Then he had shaken his head sadly when Edward defied all possible odds and saved her worthless ass.

And so now he was sat at his laptop, scrolling through his email, wincing at the message riddled with bad grammar and excessive punctuation, because he'd flamed them the previous night. George scratched his head, sighing, staring dully the offensive pixels, wondering if shooting at the internet would result in the bullets passing through cyberspace and finding all the idiots he dealt with. Tonight was not a good night for him to be replying to the mentally retarded population of the internet, and yet at the same time, he felt a desire to give his opinion to _something_.

An idea struck him.

There existed a story worthy of his attention. A story so horrifically _awful,_ so Sue-ish, and almost completely responsible for the masses of shit that clogged up the depths of Fan Fiction, that it would be a sin not to flame it. George typed the name of the Twilight website into the address bar and clicked enter.

He was going to flame Twilight.

* * *

Stephenie Flyer sat at her desk, typing up the next Twilight book.

"_Oh, Edward, I love you, can't you see? I don't care if you're dangerous; I don't care if you could rip out my throat and cannibalise my body at a moment's notice; I don't care if there is no actual chemistry between us at all, and we are simply together because of an unknown entity deciding our fates at a whim! All I want is to be with you, forever, and always! Make me a vampire!"_

_Edward stared down huskily at Stephenie with liquid gold eyes, touching her face with a—_

Stephenie paused, chewed her lip, and then pressed the back space button frantically, realising her mistake.

_Edward stared down huskily at Bella with liquid gold eyes, touching her face with a cold hand._

"_NO U," he said, his voice smooth and delicate – music to her ears._

Suddenly an email notice popped up on the computer, making Stephenie jump. She glanced around the room, and then smiled. Fan mail, of course. All she'd had since she'd published Twilight was mail to her, telling her how great her work was. Sometimes it was her dad, sometimes it was her mom, sometimes it was her sister, and occasionally, a person outside of her family and friends, whose letters she could barely read, but made out enough of, 'I LUVD IT RIGHT MORE!!111111111!!!!!!!!111!!!!' to assume it was a positive comment.

But when Stephenie opened the email, she felt her body go cold – as cold as Edward on a cold winter's night. Outside.

In the cold.

She read through the message, tears of black and bitter despair welling up in her rich, mahogany-brown eyes, like a tree had been stuffed inside her skull at birth, and then caught the sadness in a small bottle so she could sell it on eBay at a later date.

Someone was not praising her work!

Muttering angrily to herself, Stephenie sat back in her chair, concocting evil plans inside her head. She had already made a pact with Satan once to make her books popular for no good reason. She'd already given her soul, but she also knew he would not be able to turn down her virginity.

Grinning, she leant forward and stared manically at the email.

"Georgasaurus," she whispered, "you will pay for your words!"

* * *

**A/N: I have not broken the TOS by involving real people. Unless 'Stephenie Flyer' _really_ wrote Twilight. 8K**


	2. OMG, BEWBS

**OMG, BEWBS**

George awoke to find he was in an unknown room. Rubbing his eyes, he looked around, and then sighed. Wooden floors, light-blue walls, and yellow-laced curtains greeted him, the rest of the bedroom devoid of any personalisation. It was definitely a girl's. Most likely he had gotten drunk last night and ended up at someone's house, stuffed in their spare room because they didn't know what to do with him. He couldn't remember drinking any alcohol the night before, but that didn't bother him too much. What flummoxed George was the fact that if he'd gotten so rat-assed he couldn't even remember being picked up by some chick and ending up in their house, he didn't have a hangover to show for it. Although he hated hangovers, they were still like a badge of honour to him.

The only other option was that he'd been kidnapped in the middle of the night and then stuffed into a girl's bedroom. That wouldn't be too bad either, so long as the bitch was hot.

Yawning, George staggered out of bed and crossed the floor, his feet squeaking against the wood. Where was the girl, he wondered? Perhaps cops were outside right now after getting a call from a hysterical teenager, upon finding a guy snuggled up in her duvet. Not that it bothered him. He smooth talk his way out, flirting with the officer if they were female, or dive out of the window and flee if they were male.

A piece of hair fell in his face, brown and long, and he blinked, confused. Not only was his hair black, but it was a lot shorter than that. Clearly whoever had thrown him into their bed had caught their hair on him or something. He tried to pluck it from his face, and then jumped when a sharp pain shot through his head.

_This shit's attached?_ he thought to himself, puzzled. George glanced around the room, expecting a bottle of glue to be sat innocently on top of a cupboard, but saw nothing. Then he noticed his hand was much more slender than before, with longer, thinner fingers, and more rounded nails.

"What the fuck?" he exclaimed, and then froze. His voice had become high-pitched and girly, like a...well, like a girl.

"No _way_," he said loudly, and looked down at his chest. There, in all their boner-causing glory, was a pair of breasts, bulging under the pale grey t-shirt, barely contained by the thin fabric. George stared for a moment, mouth hanging open, and then ran to the mirror, excited. He ripped the t-shirt off and threw it at the window, and then had a ferocious battle with the bra, having never taken one of himself before. When at last the black 32C underwire was defeated, it joined the discarded t-shirt. George stood in front of the mirror, hands on breasts, pushing them together to make a cleavage. He grinned, jiggling them about.

"Boobs. Fucking awesome."

Boobs he could touch whenever he wanted! Boobs he could fondle freely! Boobs that were not off-limits just because the owner had a headache! Boobs that—

George paused, mid-boob fantasy, as a sudden terrifying thought occurred to him. His stomach churned in fear, and he let go off his newly shaped chest and looked downwards at his pants. The material was baggy, so he could not tell if...if...

Petrified, George reach to the waistband of his pants with a shaking hand, his lips trembling, and slowly pulled the top of his trousers outwards.

Charlie Swan sat placidly at his breakfast table, eating cereal with a dull expression. The morning was quiet, despite his daughter arriving the day before. As he raised his spoon to his mouth, a horrified scream sounded from upstairs. Charlie stood up, knocking his bowl and the bottle of milk flying, before running up to the source of the noise. As he entered the room, he saw his daughter having a tantrum on the floor, half naked, and ran straight out again, embarrassed. He'd figure out what was wrong with her later, when she'd put some clothes on. As he reached the bottom of the stairs, he heard her shriek to the heavens again.

"Jamen, once was enough, for _fuck's_ sake!"

Perhaps a psychiatrist, too, on second thought.

* * *

When George finally managed to calm himself down, he looked into the mirror properly. Before he had just been focusing on the hearty melons attached to his chest, paying no attention to anything above the neckline. However, now he was looking at his new face and shape.

He had breasts. That would be cool for a while, until the novelty ran out. He had also lost his manhood, along with any chance he may have had at jacking off to his own cleavage. The features that stared back at him in the reflective glass were chillingly familiar, though, as if he'd had a description of them forcefully rammed into his brain every three seconds for a long period of time. His fingers explored the alien body he was now in, slowly moving up and down the unfamiliar curves. He was slender, but softly so; definitely not an athlete. His skin was pallid, almost sickly looking, and his hair was now long and brown, falling in gentle waves down his back. Plain was a word that best described it. Plain and—

George suddenly remembered where he had seen this description, this person, before. He glanced about the room, taking in the detail, lines from a book running through his head.

"_The wooden floor, the light blue walls, the peaked ceiling, the yellow lace curtains around the window – these were all part of my childhood. The only changes Charlie had ever made were switching the crib for a bed and adding a desk as I grew."_

"God, no," he moaned in despair, clutching at his cheeks. "Not that. Anything but _that._"

George paused and looked down at his crotch.

"Well, _almost_ anything but that."

He looked up at the ceiling and put his hands together, as if in prayer.

"One or the other, God. If I'm going to stay here, at least give me my tackle back."

Silence greeted him. He waited hopefully for a sign that his pride and joy would reappear, but nothing happened.

"...Fucking _A_!"

* * *

George looked up at the sky, unimpressed by the drizzle. Bella had bitched about the rain often in the book, but to him it just looked like ordinary British weather. He dropped his gaze and stared at the huge, red monster looming over him, wondering if trucks were actually capable of killing people by themselves. He'd passed his driving test a few months ago, but that was in an ordinary car, not this...thing. George was sorely tempted to run down every living being in the God-forsaken town of Forks with the indestructible tank of a vehicle, but he suspected somehow that killing everyone wasn't going to be the best way to get him the fuck out of here.

George sighed and shook his head, unable to get the vivid image of Edward's body crunching beneath his wheels, and climbed into the right side of the car, before closing the door. He turned to the wheel, ready to start the truck up, and then blinked as his hands grasped at air.

"What the...?" he muttered to himself, perplexed. George glanced to the left, and then groaned deeply.

He was in an _American_ truck.

Pushing the door open roughly, he slid out of the vehicle, before slamming as hard as he could, setting the car alarm off. Ignoring it, he stormed over to the other side and got in, before starting up the truck and cutting the alarm off.

He turned on the radio, and Queen's _'I Want to Break Free'_ played loudly, making him wince. Not that he didn't like the song, but he was well aware that the band dressed in drag for the music video of it. He looked down at his own chest and sighed, before sullenly turning the radio channel. A female voice filtered through the speakers.

"_Man, I feel like a woman!"_

George quickly switched it off, and then banged his head repeatedly against the wheel, sounding the horn each time he did.

What had he done to deserve this?

When his head started to hurt, George stopped, looking at the road ahead of him. He never driven on the wrong side before...but it couldn't be _that_ hard, could it?

_If Yanks can do it, then so can I,_ George thought determinedly to himself. He took hold of the gear stick and put it into place, before pushing against the gas pedal. He released the clutch, and the car shot backwards into a nearby tree with an almighty crash. George was flung forward into the wheel once more, cracking his forehead against it. He yelled in pain and clutched at his head, stars dancing around his vision. Squinting his eyes, he peered at the gear box and saw he'd put it straight into reverse.

"Fucking Americans!"

* * *

Driving slowly down the road, George reached for the gear stick, praying he'd finally get it right. Every single time he'd changed, he'd reverted to Brit driving and skipped a gear, which in turn stalled the truck. However, this time the transition was smooth, and George sighed in relief, speeding the truck up as he turned around the corner.

He was instantly greeted with the sight of an expensive car, sleek and sophisticated. He probably would have admired it -- perhaps even named what type of car it was -- if it wasn't for the fact it was on the same lane as him, heading straight towards him.

"Shit!" Thanks to his new voice, what was intended as a manly yell instead came out as a high pitched shriek. He swerved violently to the right, his heart beating heavily against his ribcage. The other car did the same, veering off the road and down a ditch.

"God damn it!" George cried, glancing only briefly at the overhead mirror so he could watch the car behind him topple over the edge and roll over spectacularly, before forcing his eyes back on the road. He cared about his own life, but he didn't give a flying shit about the well-being of the Twilight characters. Watching a car crash was cool, anyway.

_Drive on the right-hand side of the road, you twat,_ he thought to himself, carefully changing gear again and ignoring the roar behind him as the crashed car exploded.

* * *

Parking across two parking spaces, George climbed out of the truck, deciding if he was going to be stuck here, he was going to be a pain in the ass to the rest of the people in this hellhole. Noticing a small sign on the door of a building opposite him, which read 'FRONT OFFICE', George shrugged his shoulders and walked over to it, opening it and entering the warm, brightly lit room. Plant pots were on every surface. George turned to look at a large clock ticking away on the wall, and knocked a potted papyrus plant off a shelf with his elbow. It fell to the floor with a clunk, the vegetation falling out of its plastic container and pouring out onto the orange-flecked carpet.

A red-haired woman, who had been sat at a cluttered desk in the middle of the room, glanced up at George, barely seeming to register the demise of a soldier from her shrubbery squad, and blinked.

"Can I help you?" she asked immediately, her nasally voice immediately setting his teeth immediately on edge.

"Nah," George immediately replied, walking past her immediately. She stood up immediately, immediately sending a stack of papers immediately flying into the air.

Immediately.

"Isabella Swan," she said breathlessly, waving several sheets in George's face.

"My name's George," George said, but she ignored him and proceeded to explain all his classes to him, highlighting a map and then practically shoving it into his face, along with a sign slip for teachers. She wished him a good day, and that she hoped he would enjoy Forks, and then shoved him out of the office and back outside. George sighed, putting a hand to his head, and then glanced at his truck. He could leave the damn thing here. He'd be more likely to survive the less time he spent in it. And yet there was something compelling him to drive it to where ever the hell these people parked their cars, despite the threat of disembowelment. Confused, he climbed in and started it up, somehow managing to pull out with ease. It was like the Twilight world was forcing him to follow its plot, regardless of his personal feelings. How else could he have gotten over the loss of his testicles and travel to the school in such a short space of time?

Stephenie Flyer couldn't even give him time to grieve, the bitch.

Driving precariously around the school, George quickly found a line of traffic to follow and pretend he knew where the hell he was going. One thing he had noticed was nearly all the cars were as battered and fucked up as this, which made George feel slightly less badass. How could he cause criminal damage if everyone owned tanks like he did?

Suddenly a pristine Volvo caught his eye, the paint gleaming to mirror perfection. He grinned and shifted the truck over slightly, allowing it scrape along the side of the car, the metal on metal emitting a painfully high screeching sound.

It was like music to his ears.

He braked and leaned out of the window to admire his handiwork, before setting off again to find the car park.

* * *

The teacher, Mr. Mason, was gawking at him. George wasn't sure if the man was a paedophile, staring at his underage, teenage bosom because Mrs. Mason's were past their sell-by date, or just unware of social boundaries, but he didn't like it, regardless. He did the only thing one could do in such a situation.

He stared back.

Eventually Mr. Mason took the hint and began the lesson. George quickly realised he had never laid eyes on any of the material.

Bronte? Chaucer? Faulkner?

Shakespeare, he had encountered briefly at sixteen, in his last year of high school, two years ago. 'The Taming of the Shrew', if he remembered correctly, had been the area of study. At first he'd hated the thought of studying barely intelligible scripts, but at closer inspection, had discovered (to his delight) that Shakespeare had stuffed the classic play chock full of sexual innuendoes. The look on his teacher's face had been priceless when he'd written an essay on the meaning behind 'Thou hast hit it: come, sit on me.'

After staring helplessly at the page for nearly an hour, the bell rang, and George stood up quickly, wanting to get out of the stupid classroom. A boy with a face like a pizza leaned over from the desk next to George and smiled leeringly at him.

"You're Isabella Swan, aren't you?" George remembered this guy. The book had described him as the 'overly helpful, chess-club type.' All George saw were the letters 'NERD' stamped across the little fucker's forehead.

"George," he corrected the kid, wondering if any confusion would arise at a chick having a dude's name. The boy, however, continued as if he hadn't heard him.

"Where's your next class?" he asked. Everyone in the room had turned to look at them by this point. George didn't get it. What was so interesting about a new student, seriously? Were they all inbred hillbillies, the entire population being related to each other in some shape or form, and new blood in Forks was like the second coming of Christ?

"Dunno," George responded with a shrug. He wasn't really planning on going to his next lesson, anyway. American schools were weird, he'd decided.

"I'm headed towards building four; I could show you the way..."

George blinked.

"The fuck? You take a look at my timetable in the office this morning and memorised it or something?"

"I'm Eric, by the way," Eric added with a smile.

"Go get laid. I'm not going to screw you."

George strode away, shaking his head. Why did all the guys in this book want to fuck Bella, anyway? True, every female who came into contact with him back home were always trying to seduce him back to their beds, but he was the Sex God, damn it! Bella had no reason for being loved by everyone. She was plain, pale and sickly, and, quite frankly, fucking annoying.

George stopped and sighed, putting a hand to his forehead. He'd been doing that a lot today, but at the present time it seemed to be the only thing he _could_ do. George looked up again to find Eric standing directly in front of him, causing him to let out a yelp and jump backwards. Eric's was not a face you'd want to see in a dark alley.

Or, indeed, a crowded high school corridor.

Somehow, George found himself actually going to class with Eric, though, being dumped off in a Spanish class, another thing he'd never studied. The class was long and tedious, along with several girls pouncing on him. Usually he'd take advantage of the attention, but unless they were into other chicks

(_Please, God, please, let something good come out of this. Please let Forks be populated by_ _lesbians,_ he'd screamed inside his head)

then it would be pointless trying it on with them. They latched onto him immediately, cornering him and dragging him away to lunch with them after the bell had rung. He found himself squashed at a table full of empty-headed teenagers, a curly-haired bitch introducing each one of them to him.

_Blah blah, dumb shit twats, blah blah,_ George said to himself, not bothering to listen. He stared dejectedly at the wall, flicking peas along the table, when something caught his eye. Glancing up, he saw a most terrible sight.

_The Cullens_.

"Oh, shite," George said aloud. The kids around him stared. One of the girls followed his gaze, and then giggled.

"That's Edward and Emme--" she began, but George cut across her.

"I know who they are, bitch! Shut your whore mouth!"

_Shit. Shit...this is where it starts. Manlady sees me, gets attracted to me, and then shit be going down!_

George stood up, knocking his seat over. The entire cafeteria went quiet. He noticed, with an edge of panic, that the Cullens, particularly Edward, were suddenly paying close attention to him.

Edward couldn't read Bella's thoughts, could he? And yet George wasn't really Bella. He wasn't sure how it worked out, but he couldn't risk it.

Staring directly at Edward, he thought like crazy.

_Faggot, faggot, faggot, faggot, faggot, faggot, faggot—_

_Oh, shit, wait. He is a faggot. Need to put him off me..._

_Lesbians, lesbians, hot, lesbians, lesbians, hot, lesbians, lesbians, hot..._

He smirked to himself, wondering what Edward would be thinking if he could actually hear this, and then noticed the vampire twat staring back. Edward looked away immediately, with what looked like a small smile on his face. George could vaguely remember this in the book. It seemed no matter what he did, he would be doomed to be stalked by Edward in the end. Maybe if he just rolled with it, it would correct itself in the end. Or maybe...

George suddenly had an idea. He grinned, and then laughed softly to himself.

"See you in Biology, mate," he mumbled to himself as he walked out of the cafeteria. He was certain the vampire heard him.

_

* * *

_

**A/N: You know, I wrote this thinking I would get a bunch of rabid fangirls on my ass, wanting to castrate and crucify me. Instead, the response has been really...positive.**

**A parody, in my opinion, doesn't automatically mean funny. It just means taking the piss. And that's basically all this is: me taking the utter piss out of Twilight. I wasn't trying to be funny, just honest, and so the comments really surprised me. I guess I'll just carry on as normal, and if you like it, well...**

**XD**

**Also, someone commented on the blatant self-insert of this piece. Please bear in mind that this is a parody in more ways than one.**

**Self-inserted heroic protagonist battling a Mary-Sue antagonist?**

**Oh, hell yes, mate.**

**(and yes, I am well aware your review was satire, Blake 8K)**

**One final thing: 'shite' was not a spelling error. It is a British variant of 'shit.'**


	3. No, Mr Cullen I Expect You to Die

**No, Mr Cullen; I Expect You to Die**

Bella Swan had a headache. And her bed felt bigger than usual.

She sat up, confused, and glanced about. The room was completely different to the one she had fallen asleep in that night, the day before school. The walls were a deep, rich blue, and the room had dark, wooden furniture, all polished. A wide TV sat on a stand not far from her, with a games console next to it. Posters of bands and videogames were spread across the walls, and a large bookcase packed books and a stereo on one of the shelves stood against the east wall. Slowly she slipped out of the bed, wriggling her toes as she came into contact with the cold, wooden floor, and padded across to the blue rug to avoid the chill.

Maybe her trip to Forks had been but a dream, and her mom had simply moved house and she'd forgotten about it. Bella prayed that was the case, otherwise she'd have to come up with a better explanation for why she was in this unfamiliar room.

As she walked past the wardrobe, she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the mirrored door, and froze.

Perhaps she was imagining things, but...

Bella stepped back in front of the mirror and stared at her reflection. An eighteen year old man sharing her expression of upmost horror stared back.

She screamed.

* * *

Preparation was the key.

It was pretty obvious that Flyer had no intentions of keeping Charlie in the house, giving George an opportunity to prepare for the upcoming meadow scenario that was going to end in hell if he wasn't careful. In the meantime, Charlie was becoming increasing annoying. He kept talking to himself, and acted as if he couldn't hear George.

"What's that, Bell?" Charlie said suddenly into the silent room during dinner, making George jump.

"My name's George," said George. He'd hoped if he said it enough, everyone would eventually get it right. There'd been little success. Only one person had remembered so far, and that was without George's help.

"Oh," Charlie said, surprised. George sat up straight at the dinner table, blinking. "Oh, okay. So, do you want me to stay at home?"

George suspected the man was simply repeating lines from the book, although he didn't know Twilight well enough to be certain. But maybe he could test the theory...

"Yes, please, stay," George replied loudly. "Seriously, Edward _the vampire_ is going to take me to a field, glitter like a disco ball in a gay bar, and then _try to kiss m-"_

"Are you sure?"

"Wha-?"

"You're sure easy to live with, Bella."

George sighed. Theory proved.

"My name's George."

The dreadful meal continued without any more conversation. That was another thing that bugged George: why didn't he at least have Bella's ability to cook? He was about as good at cooking as he was being tactful. Burnt 'whatever-the-fuck-was-in-the-fridge-thrown-into-a-pan' was not appetising, and yet Charlie treated it like it was haute cuisine. It had certainly crossed his mind to cook so badly that he gave food poisoning to anyone who ate what he made, but he wasn't sure about the rules of this new world. Could he be arrested? Could characters die?

Could he die?

So far only the characters had been bound to the story of Twilight, which cast a shadow of doubt on his plans for Edward. If Edward didn't react to him, if Edward was already on a set path...

George shuddered. He didn't want to think about the possibilities. He'd already been putting up with the vampire as long as he possibly could, just to earn his trust enough before Edward took him to that field to sparkle for him. George wasn't quite sure how sparkling was a good survival factor for a predator, and quite frankly, he didn't want to know. Maybe it was like deep sea creatures; distracting stupid prey with shiny lights while the owner sharpened their teeth?

He sighed again, placing down his fork and pressing his hand to his protesting stomach. The taste of burnt...stuff...was fresh in his mouth. A good, strong drink was what he needed. George had planned to obtain alcohol to help him get through the upcoming field event. But if he was drunk, then he wouldn't be able to...

George paused, stroking his chin. Then he realised he had no stubble to make his chin stroking effective, and felt a pang of loss. No matter how hard he tried, he still couldn't get used to the body he was in. Hell, the impossible had even happened: he'd become bored of boobs. They got in the way of everything, and usually had him wincing when he moved his arms and smacked his elbows carelessly into them. And then, of course, there was the near painful bouncing whilst running...

He couldn't understand how women put up with such unwieldy bulk on their chests. If...no, _when_ he returned to his own world, he was going to present his female friends with medals....

Deciding he'd had enough to eat, George stood up, dumping his dish in the sink and going upstairs. The laundry downstairs was piling up, but he'd already made his mind up that he wasn't playing housewife while he was here. Striding into his room, George pulled open the top drawer of his pale, wooden dresser, and fished out a purse amongst other...toiletries that Bella had brought with her before George had taken over. He'd heard his female friends rant about the dreaded 'time of month' on several occasions and didn't like the sound of it at all. So far, nothing had happened, and maybe it wouldn't, but he had no desire to find out.

"To the liquor store," he mumbled, shutting the drawer and stuffing the purse in his pocket with a slight struggle. George had visited the shopping mall within days of arriving to buy male clothes, but found them extremely uncomfortable on his changed body shape. After a great deal of debating between being uncomfortable and sacrificing his pride for the awful, feminine clothes Bella had, George settled for a compromise: girls' clothes, but in a very tomboy style. Vest tops, baggy jeans, unisex t-shirts (and occasionally a few guy shirts), combat pants, and several pairs of converse all in dark shades. No one seemed to notice that 'Bella' was borderline cross-dressing, though, so he continued to wear clothes that did minimal damage to his ego.

Once Charlie had gone to bed, George crept downstairs and out of the house, climbing into his truck and starting up the engine. He winced at the volume of it, and reversed quickly, praying Charlie wouldn't bother to investigate the noise, if he even heard it at all.

George had since gotten the hang of driving in American cars on American roads, and he let his hands steer the vehicle while his mind drifted away to past memories of his own world.

* * *

George pulled up outside the liquor store, dragging himself out of his reminiscence of when he had a penis. He missed it, but at least his new boobs were useful for something. In the Biology lesson, he had his chance to freak Edward out and took it with both hands. Despite clearly scaring the shit out of the vampire, though, Edward had still saved George when the blue van had hurtled towards him. So focused on the surprising outcome of the Biology lesson, George had failed to remember the next event in the book. He'd screamed like a little girl at the sight of the van drawing nearer at a frightening speed, and then sunk to the floor gasping for breath when it stopped right in front of him. Edward had looked at him with an almost scared expression himself, and then ran away before George could thank him. Clearly he'd shaken up the vampire more than he'd intended that day.

George slammed the truck door shut and sauntered towards the store, checking if he had enough money. The dollar still confused him, as he wasn't sure if exchange rate still existed in Twilight (and even if it did, he didn't know what the rate was anyway), so he pulled out a wad of cash and hoped it would be enough. Pushing open the dirty glass door, George walked into the brightly lit, cheaply decorated shop. Grabbing a shopping basket, he proceeded to grab all the alcohol he could carry (and afford), and then tottered over to the check out, winking saucily at the staff at the till. The girl looked at him, bewildered, and he remembered that for as long as he was Bella, that trick wouldn't work.

"ID, please," she asked him, chewing gum as spoke. George produced his driving licence, wanting to hurry it up so he could take the drink back to the house before Charlie realised he was gone.

"I can't serve you."

"Uh, why not?" George asked icily.

"You're underage," she replied just as coldly, chomping nosily on the accursed gum. "Or are you telling me seventeen's the drinking age now?"

Giving her a look that would make a blood crazed vampire think twice, George snatched his ID from her hand and looked at it briefly, before stuffing it back in his purse. As he turned on his heel to leave, the till assistant called out to him indignantly:

"Hey! Aren't you going to put your stuff back?"

"Didn't buy it, so it's not mine," George snapped at her as he marched to the door. "Go do it yourself."

He was out the door before she could stop him. Outrage! Back home he was eighteen and above the legal drinking age. This was turning out to be the worst time of his life. He couldn't have sex, he couldn't drink, couldn't have intelligent conversation with anyone....

George reversed the truck out, swerving it sharply and missing another car by inches, and then set off down the road. The topic of 'vampire' hadn't really come up until Edward chased off a group of men that had been after George. Of course, George calling them every insult under the sun hadn't helped their temper, but he had wanted to see if he could be hurt in this world. He never found out, because the vampire had pulled up in his car, told George to get in, and then taken him to dinner. There, 'vampire' had been discussed, although Edward did not ask how George knew beforehand, despite looking confused as Edward's great secret was 'revealed.'

It was strange, Edward's behaviour. He seemed to be incredibly wary of George – different from how he was described in the book towards Bella – but still tried to act out what had been written in the pages. He was the first person, though, that seemed to differ from the plot that had been written out for him. George was certain his plan would work on Edward, and that somehow, Edward was the key to getting home.

* * *

Charlie was gone by the time George had awoken. He yawned, stretching, and then clambered out of bed, shuffling to the shower. He made sure to take his time; he wasn't going to rush for any vampire when he'd been forced here against his will.

As he was eating breakfast (cereal – he'd decided to spare his stomach that morning), a knock sounded at the door. George ignored it, preferring to finish his meal than to entertain on a half empty stomach. The visitor knocked again as George drained his bowl.

"Alright, hold your horses!" George shouted, striding over to the door and wrenching it open. Edward flinched, surprised.

"Good morni--" he began weakly, but George interrupted him.

"Save it, mate. Just take me to the meadow."

Edward watched, stunned, as George skipped over to the truck and climbed in, before following.

"How do you know so much?" Edward asked sharply as he clambered into the passenger seat of the truck. "You recognised what I was immediately, knew I could smell your blood, and seem to know my every action. Are you...some sort of vampire?"

George snorted with laughter as he revved up the engine and turned out onto the road. Vampy was becoming paranoid, it seemed, which was perfect. He needed Edward to doubt him if he was going to break him.

"No, dude, I'm not," George replied. "I'm definitely human. Besides, you'd be able to tell if I was a vampire, right?"

"Yes, but this doesn't make sense. Humans shouldn't have such abilities. I can't even read your mind."

"You can't? Well, _that's_ a surprise. Thing is, you couldn't read Bella's mind either."

"Bella." Edward paused, a dreamy look flickering across his marble features briefly. "Bella. Your name is Bella, yes?"

"No," George replied bluntly. "My name is George. I'm just in Bella's body right now."

"I don't understand."

George sighed.

"Direct me to the freaking meadow, and then I'll tell you everything, 'kay?"

Edward nodded and gave the first instruction. George turned the wheel and drove onto a long stretch of highway. Feeling boredom sink in from the awkward silence in the car, he let his mind wander to a few weeks previous in his first Biology lesson with Edward. That had certainly been...surreal.

When he'd walked into that class, George had been prepared to cause mind-fuckery of epic levels, as far as Edward Cullen was concerned. Like Bella, George tripped up next to a desk, the girl at it giggling at him. Unlike Bella, he stood up, glanced at her, and then gave her the finger, before flouncing off to the only empty seat in the classroom: the one next to Edward. The teacher, Mr. Banner, didn't even seem to realise his new student had just made an abusive hand gesture to one of the other members of his class, and started the lesson. Immediately, George had turned to Edward and grinned, arching his back slightly so that his chest stuck out (a trick his friend, Lauri, had used on him many times over webcam).

"Hi."

Edward jumped and then glanced over to George, blinking at his pose. He looked up at the teacher, who was talking as if George hadn't spoken. No one else in the class was paying attention to them.

"What's your name?" George continued.

"Edward Cullen," the vampire replied, eyes narrowing with suspicion. "You should know. Your friends were talking about me at lunch. You made quite a scene abou--"

"You didn't ask my name," George cut across. "Don't be rude."

"Err...what's...your name?"

"George Dufresne."

"You expect me to believe that?"

"Yes."

"George? That's an odd name for a girl." Edward's brow furrowed, clearly confused. He looked as if he was waiting to be told it was a joke. George smiled widely and nodded.

"You're an odd kind of vampire, so I guess we're even."

"What did you say?" Edward said sharply, eyes widening in fear and glancing about the room to see if anyone had heard.

"Smelling my blood?" George asked Edward innocently, delighted when the vampire had stared back at him, aghast.

"I feel ill." Edward stood up abruptly and rushed out of the classroom so fast George could barely keep sight of him. He laughed at the vampire's reaction, and then returned to listening to the Biology lesson. He could have probably left the room if he wanted, but he felt a strange desire to stay where he was until the end. It wouldn't bring any harm...

"Bella," Mr. Banner said, causing George to look up at him. "What does the nucleus do in the cell?"

"My name is Geor--" George began, and then stopped, realisation dawning on him. Everyone else in this accursed place called him Bella, despite his repeated protests against it.

Edward had called him George.

_

* * *

_

Author's notes: I'm taking this in the direction of OMG, PLOT. While I know you people enjoyed the humour...I never really made this about humour. I know where this is going, and I intend to stick with it. Maybe you'll actually enjoy it! Either way, from now on, there is plot; a proper storyline to follow. Mindless bashing is fun, I know, but I want to exploit the characters of Twilight in a different way...


	4. OM, BEWuh, I meanNONBEWBS

**OMG, BEW...uh, I mean...NON-BEWBS**

It was a while before Bella finished screaming at herself in the mirror. It was even longer before she could tear her gaze away from her new reflection.

Stepping back from the glass-door wardrobe, she breathed in deeply. It was just a nightmare. A nightmare, that's all...

The hopes of 'nightmare' were immediately shattered as Bella tripped over a guitar lead on the floor, flying backwards and landing in a sprawled heap on the ground. She cried out in pain, clutching her elbows and biting her lip, trying not to cry. This was not a dream...and she was in someone else's body. Bella pushed herself to her hands and knees, and then looked down at herself, patting her now flat chest. Then she crawled over to the mirror to get a better look at herself.

Her new features, she decided, were quite average, as far as guys went. Whoever this person was, he was nothing like her beautiful Edward Cullen; god-like and perfect. Bella paused.

Who was Edward Cullen?

She shook her head; she could figure that out later. This was more important.

Her face was no longer heart shaped, but instead longer with a slightly squared chin. Her long, brown hair had been replaced with a more masculine cut, long enough to be ruffled with sleep, but still fairly short. It was jet black and currently stuck up all over the place: a case of morning hair. Black stubble covered her jaw and the top of her neck, and her teeth were straight and white (which, from the old orthodontist appointment slip stuck to the mirror, suggested the work of braces). The most striking thing about her new self, however, was her eyes. They were a rich forest green, showing a hint of cunning in their depths. They were nothing compared to Edward's, though, which were like topaz—

"Who is Edward?" Bella whispered to herself, standing up and inspecting her figure. Thankfully, the person she now in was not a colossal fatty. He was tall and lean, with a slightly muscular frame, although he was certainly no Ed—

Bella stopped herself, putting a hand to her forehead. Whatever was going on, it was surreal. She was in a man's body, and kept referring to someone she didn't even know. Perhaps her subconscious was trying to tell her something...

There was only one thing she could do in a situation like this. Only one thing could provide her with all the answers she needed.

Bella walked over to the desk where a computer was and sat down in the chair in front of it. She clicked the address bar and started to type in the title of the keeper of all knowledge.

A pinging noise sounded, and a Yahoo Instant Messenger window appeared on the screen, making Bella jump. Squinting, she read the message.

"_George Dufresne!"_ it read. "_Where the hell have you been all night? You were supposed to be helping us poke that wasp nest of an Anti-Flamer forum! We had to go without you!"_

Bella blinked, confused. Anti-Flamer? What on earth was that? She glanced at the name on the screen and saw she was talking to someone called 'Ever Heard of a Thing that Gives the Definition of Words?' Next to it, in brackets, was the name 'Lauri.'

"_hi lauri,"_ Bella typed. "_sori i fell asleep lol wat happened?"_

There was a long pause, and Bella began to think Lauri had forgotten about her. Then another message appeared.

"_...dude, are you high?"_

"_no y?"_ she replied, confused.

"_Well, then what's with the chatspeak?"_

"_chatspeak? oh i see wat u mean"_

"_Yeah. So what's with it?"_

"_Nothing. Is this better?"_

"_Didn't answer my question. I'm coming over."_

"_No, you don't have to."_

But Lauri had already gone offline. Bella sighed. Perhaps she could go for a walk before—

A door banged down the hallway and footsteps drew closer towards Bella's room.

"George!" a girl yelled loudly. "You better not be doing anything obscene when I come in! I can't think of any other reason for you to have lost all capability to spell without a damn good reason!"

A small, pretty, dark-skinned girl with long, thick black hair and an hourglass shaped body burst into the bedroom clutching a camera. She saw Bella sat at the computer desk, bewildered, and the grin dropped from her face, replaced with disappointment.

"Damn it, George!" she cried. "One of these days I'll catch you..."

"You live in the same house as me?" Bella asked, and Lauri nodded in response. "Well, if you wanted me earlier, why didn't you just come in and tell me to help you with that flame anti thing?"

Lauri shrugged. "I assumed you were, uh, _busy_...and my camera was out of battery."

Bella sighed again. This place was certainly strange. Lauri had strange priorities, that was for certain.

"I'm going for a shower, and then for a walk," she told Lauri.

"You can't," Lauri replied. "You have to go to college in about...twenty minutes? I'd get ready quickly if I were you."

* * *

The college was not what she expected it to be. For starters, it was smaller than any she had seen back home, and was a quaint little brick structure surrounded by other buildings for various subjects. She went inside, noting the cheap carpet and painted walls, before walking inside the common room. The small area was packed with students, who were sat on padded chairs or at tables dotted around the room. The walls were also painted, but instead of sickly green or bland blue, they were instead vibrant shades of green, red, orange, yellow, and blue. Vending machines stood in the corner with a line of students waiting their turn to use them, and a large TV hung on the wall, which some of the students were watching 'Loose Women' on. Bella suspected that the students weren't supposed to be doing that, but decided to stay silent.

Judging by the accents of the people around her, Bella was either in Australia or England.

Or maybe Canada.

"George!" Bella turned around only because Lauri had called her it earlier in her room. A dark haired girl ran over to her and hugged her tightly, and then looked up at Bella.

"Hey, it's your biggest fan, Georgie! Sarah Crow!" Bella was disturbed that the girl was still clinging intimately close to her. Sarah looked at her with big, wounded eyes.

"You don't remember me?" she whimpered sadly. Bella forced a smile quickly and nodded.

"Of course I do," she replied, wishing she could be let go.

"Then why didn't you visit me last night when you promised you would?" she yelled suddenly, releasing Bella from the death grip and slapping her across the face, before storming away.

Bella staggered, gasping in shock at the hit, nearly falling backwards over a nearby chair. However, she managed to steady herself, and straightened up, clutching at her cheek. What in the hell? Why had Sarah just hit he--?

"George!"

Bella reeled around to see a tall, stunning girl eying her up. She wore a short, black miniskirt which showed off her, long, slender tanned legs, and a tight black vest top, which was cut low to reveal large breasts. Her long, blonde hair flowed freely around her shoulders in soft curls, and her makeup was perfect, highlighting her brown eyes and plump, pink lips. Bella felt overwhelmed by her beauty.

"George," she purred, sauntering over to him, pushing him into the chair, and then straddling him, "I left my boyfriend for you."

"Uh, goo--?" Bella began, but was cut off as the girl leant forward, kissing her. She froze, disliking the touch of someone of the same gender.

"I left my boyfriend for you," the girl repeated. "And you _stood me up._"

Another swift smack was delivered to Bella's already tender face, and the girl stood up again, moving away and leaning against a table.

"My boyfriend would like to have a few words with you for that."

_Why isn't her boyfriend mad at her?_ Bella thought, before noticing the huge, muscular brute stood in front of her, cracking his knuckles.

"Your smart mouth ain't gonna save you now, _Douche _-fresne," he grunted, and then punched Bella in the face, knocking her off the chair and sending her sprawling to the ground. Bella lay on the floor, staring at the ceiling with stars dancing in front of her eyes, unable to focus. No one seemed to notice (or care) that a mini fight had just occurred, so Bella quickly crawled away while the ape boyfriend flexed his muscles at his girlfriend.

Running into the toilets, Bella inspected her face in the mirror. It was pretty clear she would have a sizable bruise on her jaw line within a few hours. As she touched the sore spot gingerly, a girl walked out of the toilet, spotted Bella, and began to shriek loudly.

"Boy in girls' toilets! Pervert!"

Several more girls ran in, grabbed Bella's shirt, and hauled her roughly to the door, before flinging her forcefully out into the corridor. She hit a wall display and slid to the ground as paper mache handprint casts rained down on her.

Today was not a good day.

Bella slowly stood up, wondering if this was the daily routine for this body.

"George!"

A girl in a red shirt appeared at Bella's side. Bella flinched and shied away, waiting to be hit again.

"Hey, it's only me, Jenny!" Jenny said, smiling pleasantly at her. "Just wanted to say thanks for the _great_ night the other day. Hope we can do it again soon."

She winked saucily at Bella and then gave her a cheeky pat on the bum before walking away again.

Somehow, Bella preferred the slaps.

* * *

"Oi, Scarecrow! Scarecrow the Scribe! Do you have any friends?"

Sarah sighed and tried to ignore the catcalls aimed at her. She'd always been called 'scarecrow' because of her name and because of her love of scruffy, vintage clothes. 'Scribe' had been added on after she had taken up writing during lunch and free periods of the day. The kids in her English class had found it _so_ witty. Sarah found it extremely irksome.

She watched with amusement as George Dufresne shuffled into the study room, his face covered with red marks where he had been hit repeatedly. She didn't mind the guy, but she liked to abuse him even more. He could never remember who he'd slept with or promised a date, so it was easy to beat him and then pretend he'd offered to take her out.

Sarah frowned, looking closer at him. He seemed to be...upset? George was never upset. He was always cheerful and sarcastic, pissing people off with his sharp tongue and then running for his life when they realised what he'd said.

Shutting her notepad, she stood up and walked over to him, sitting down next to him. He jumped and stared at her warily. Sarah smiled kindly at him.

"Are you alright, George?" she asked. He shook his head at her, and then put his face in his hands, before sniffing loudly.

_Was he...crying?_

"Come on, we'll go to another room. People are staring," she said, tugging at his sleeve and making him get up. She led him to an unused classroom and sat him down, before seating herself opposite, folding her arms and waiting for him to tell her what was wrong.

Ten minutes later, Sarah was speechless.

"George," she said, blinking, "are you...ill?"

"I'm not George!" he protested hysterically. "My name is Bella and I don't know why I'm here! Please, you have to believe me!"

Sarah sighed. It had to happen sometime. Getting her phone out of her pocket, she dialled Lauri's number and put it to her ear, waiting for it to be picked up.

"Hello?" Lauri said, answering her phone.

"Lauri, it's me, Sarah."

"Ohhh, hey, Scarecrow! 'Sup?"

"I'll let that one slide. Your little buddy has finally lost it. Thinks he's a girl called Bella now stuck in a guy's body--"

"I _knew_ he'd come out eventually!"

"—and thinks he doesn't recognise us."

Bella heard Lauri's response from the other side of the room, and despite herself, watched with a slight smile as Sarah held the phone away from her ear, wincing.

"What?" she yelled, the speaker of the phone crackling from the intense volume. "God damn it, I am unforgettable! Tell him he better remember me right now or I'm going to--"

"Actually," Sarah cut in quickly, "I was hoping you'd pick him up and take him home. He did get a nasty left hook off Donny about ten minutes ago."

"Ohh, you mean Amber's boyfriend?"

"Yeah. Think it's literally knocked the sense out of him."

"But I'm fine!" Bella protested. Sarah lashed out at Bella without looking, catching her square in the nose and knocking her off her feet. She crashed to the floor and fell out of consciousness.

"Okay, _now_ he's had the sense knocked out of him," Sarah continued without even glancing in Bella's direction. "Come and pick him up, yeah?"

"_Fine. _But on one condition."

"What's that?"

"Take pictures of him in suggestive and humiliating poses so I can blackmail him with them later."

"Consider it done."

* * *

Meanwhile, in the world of Twilight, George was still attempting to cause chaos. One awkward car ride and tiring hike through the woods later, and he found himself in the meadow with Edward, rolling his eyes in an unimpressed manner as Edward sparkled furiously in the sunlight.

"You explain now." The vampire stood haughtily in the grass, arms folded, glistening as he glared. George made a small mock bow, and then began.

"You, Edward-pompous-ass-Cullen, are nothing more than a fictional character in a fictional world. I am a reader dragged into the book." George had opted for the harsh approach, hoping to shock the vampire into submission. Edward blinked.

"What?" he asked, his eyes wide. "How can I be a fictional character? How could you get inside a _book_?"

"Alright then, aside from your illness and being made into a vampire – oh, and spending time with me once I joined the school – what do you know about yourself? Go on: tell me your entire life story, from start to finish. Tell me the fun moments in your life once you became a vampire. The feelings you felt towards Carlisle and Esme for saving you. Tell me all the minor details of your life, not just the major events."

Edward said nothing, instead watching George carefully from a distance. George nodded at the silence, and then continued.

"Alright, maybe your memory as a creature of the undead is false, hmm? So...if you're not a fictional character, and I've not read the story of your life...how do I know so much? I have to give it to you, you and your family are careful...and yet here I am, a mere human...girl...with perfect knowledge of your condition, eating habits, quirks, family names, and secret visiting place. Hell, I'm even not surprised by your glitter-bomb complexion. And no normal person would relive their high school years over and over again unless someone was making them. Come on, there are better things to do with your time!

"It's a little weird, isn't it, Edward? And I think, since I've arrived, that you _know_ something isn't right with the world you live in. You're aware of it, even if no one else is; even if you don't know what's wrong. I guessed that you were a vampire and that you had a thing for my blood, but I bet you've said nothing to Carlisle, have you? You _should_ have dealt with me, or even just kept away...or at least tried to find out how I knew anything about you. But you've not. Here's why:

"You're following a plot, man. Your life's been set on paper for you, and no matter what happens, or what I do, you're compelled to follow it regardless of how you feel about it. When Bella was here, it didn't matter, because she went along with it. I, however, am a little disruption in your perfectly set up world and you seem to be the only one who is aware of the change."

Edward slowly sat down on the floor. His head was hurting just thinking about it. His mind screamed at him to ignore what was being presented to him; the urge was so strong that he almost did. However, a little voice started up in his head telling him to try and make sense of it.

He felt like he was supposed to be in love with the girl, George, only he wanted to call her Bella so desperately. The name was on the tip of his tongue, begging to be used. When he had heard the name 'Bella' from George's mouth, his thoughts had become hazy, and he'd called her as such. Only George corrected him, and everything became clear again. Strange, but clear.

Now that he thought about it, ever since George had appeared in Forks, he had felt a sense of wrongness hovering over him like a black cloud. He'd wanted to run from her and not go near her again when she'd called him a vampire, but had been compelled to return. He'd thought it a bad idea in every sense, but couldn't help himself all the same.

"Please," he mumbled to George, feeling confused and lost, "please explain this book to me. Explain how you got here...who you really are...and who Bella is. I...must know."

"I'll do it on one condition," George replied, smirking.

"And what's that?"

"You're going to help me get home."

"And how will I do that?" Edward asked, bewildered. He didn't even know how George had gotten here. Get her back? It would be like asking him to generate body heat again. George's expression darkened to one of manic glee. It made the vampire feel uncomfortable.

"I'm trapped in this book. I think I have to beat the book to get out of it. Edward-vampy-mate, you're going to help me destroy your world."

* * *

_A/N: Gonna be away for a month. Exams. Have fun while I'm away, kids. Hope this wasn't rushed or whatever. Tough shit it is. 8K_


	5. Kiss and Tell

**Kiss and Tell**

Stephenie Flyer couldn't sleep. Usually on such endless, lonely nights, she would think of Edward; the image of him in her mind was enough comfort to take her into slumber. On this night, however, she felt nothing when she thought of him. No connection, no longing for his touch; it was like whatever bond they'd had was now broken, or at least wearing away.

The author sighed, rubbed her eyes and then sat up, before getting out of bed. Perhaps a nice drink would soothe her nerves...

The big, empty house made her feel edgy, the wind howling outside while shadows turned ordinary objects to monsters. Stephenie quickly scurried into the kitchen, flicking on a switch and sighed in relief as light filled the room, vanquishing her demons. She walked towards the fridge and opened it, locating a carton of orange juice. After quickly finding a glass, she poured the juice into it, and then downed the lot in one go.

That was better.

Feeling refreshed, Stephenie put everything away, feeling ready to go back to bed. However, as she turned the kitchen lights off, she noticed something...strange.

The study door on the other side of the kitchen was open, and a strange, blue glow was emitting from its empty frame. Had she left the computer on in there before she went to bed? She was sure, when she had first entered the kitchen, that there had been no blue light.

"You must have left it on," she said to herself weakly. "Computers don't come on by themselves."

The computer was on, opened on Microsoft Word. Stephenie recognised it as the file she had saved 'Twilight' on from the document name 'Edward and I.' As she sat down in the computer chair, she saw the word count and froze. Where had all her work gone?

Then she saw the letters appearing on the screen all by themselves.

"George?" she whispered, her eyes widening. It had been weeks since she'd sent him to her book, and yet the file was rewriting itself around him! She quickly read the line typing out across the screen.

"_It's simple, see. Twilight bases itself off you being perfect..."_

Suddenly, Stephenie had an idea. She wouldn't be able to change anything now. She guessed new material would only be available in the right moments of time...but when the moment came, she would be able to give him a special ending all of his own. He could try to escape the prison she had created for him, but if he wanted to play games, then so could she.

Stephenie had no intention of losing.

* * *

"It's simple, see. Twilight bases itself off you being perfect. If you stop being perfect, if you stop being Flyer's kind of vampire, Twilight won't be able to cope with the cracks in its structure."

"How is changing the very basis of a vampire _simple_?"

"Because I said so. I just haven't figured out the deceptively simple part of it yet."

"I am filled with confidence."

George glared down at Edward – who was carrying him on his back to the truck at high speed – not liking the sarcasm. That was his thing, not some girly vampire who thought he was superior to The Almighty George. Edward's arrogance was astounding.

"The way _I_ see it," George continued loudly, "is that there are certain points of Bella-"

"Bella?" Edward began, a love stuck expression flickering across his face.

"Shut up," George cut across. "There are certain points of, uh, the 'B-word' that make the book the way it is. There are also things you do that makes you as perfect as you are."

"Like what?"

"Well, for starters, your resistance to human blood."

"Are you suggesting," Edward said, looking horrified, "that I abandon my vegetarianism and drink human blood?"

"That's exactly what I'm suggesting," George replied with a grin, ignoring Edward's spluttering protests. "Vampires are the supreme bad asses of mythology: drinking blood, tormenting peasants, killing whoever stands in their way, and occasionally kidnapping a naive chick to make his human mistress. You...are none of those things. You're a joke of a vampire."

Edward sniffed with distaste.

"I am civilised," he retorted. "I see little point in acting like a barbarian when I can blend amongst the people forever."

The vampire paused suddenly, a glimmer of understanding slowly appearing in his golden eyes. He had to admit, despite supernatural prowess, mingling and hiding with the ordinary, blundering locals of Forks was incredibly dull. It had been Carlisle's idea, really, to remain the good and beautiful Cullen family. Until George had arrived, nothing interesting or mysterious had ever happened in the quaint little town. Edward looked up at George, sighed, and then nodded with a grimace.

"Fine," he muttered. "You're right about that, at least. I don't really understand why I spend my life living as a human when I could be doing so much more. But I still prefer being a vegetarian."

"Vegetarian?" George snorted and rolled his eyes. "Mate, you drink _animal_ blood. Last I looked, animals weren't vegetables. The only way you could be a vegetarian is if you drank plant blood...which doesn't exist. Sucks to be you, I guess."

Edward said nothing. He couldn't really argue.

"Us being in love is already sorted...well, at least from my end. But I think the more you change, the more you'll be less...gay."

"Being in love with a girl is not gay," Edward snapped back.

"Mm'kay, whatever. Anyway, sparkling is the one I don't know how to get rid of. That'll take some work, definitely. Maybe...talcum powder, for the time being? Also, reading my mind. You're not supposed to be able to read Bell—I mean, B-word's mind. We have to find a way for you to read my mind, somehow."

"Yes." Edward nodded, scowling slightly. "I do find it annoying that I can't."

"I'll bet you do...pervert."

Edward stopped abruptly and then let go of George, dropping him to the floor. George yelled out in pain, while the vampire smirked at him.

"Oops," said Edward, before climbing into the truck.

"Smart arse," George grumbled, getting up and dusting himself off. He walked around the truck and clambering into the driving seat. He took the handbrake off and prepared to reverse.

It was then Edward lunged for him.

"Fuck!" George exclaimed, evading Edward's lips and throwing himself into the backseat. Edward paused, and then shook his head.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled, looking embarrassed, kneeling on the chair so that he faced George. "I don't know what came over me."

"It's this book," George replied, gasping for breath. "That was the moment you first kiss Be—B-word. And, uh, she kisses you back."

Edward nodded. At first, he hadn't believed George's story – including him insisting he was a guy in a girl's body – but the more he thought about it, the more it made sense. His strange desire to kiss George had just confirmed it.

"I hate to break your deep thought," George said suddenly, indeed breaking Edward's deep thought, "but, uh, we're moving backwards."

Edward glanced down and saw George had left the handbrake off when he'd moved away from Edward's kiss, and the car was beginning to pick up considerable speed as it rolled down the woodland hill towards the main road. As he reached down to put it back on, the truck hit a drop in the ground, bouncing the vehicle and flipping Edward headfirst over the back of his seat, landing on George.

"Grab the damn han—ack!" George yelled as he received a flying vampire to the face. Pinned to the back seat with Edward on top of him (something he had wanted to avoid at all costs ever since he had arrived in Twilight), George couldn't see how far they were to the road. The handbrake was just out of his reach.

Suddenly, Edward swivelled around and grabbed the handbrake, pulling it up into position. George heard a scream outside as the wheels skidded, spinning the truck around to an odd angle on the slope. For one heart stopping second, George thought it was going to turn over onto its side, but it instead settled and halted.

"Get off me," George snapped the second he was sure they weren't going to become road kill. He elbowed Edward sharply in the ribs, before whimpering in pain. Edward had a solid chest.

Edward sat up, and then jumped as an angry face appeared at the window, knocking on the glass.

"We're in trouble," Edward muttered.

* * *

All things considered, George was quite happy with the lecture he was receiving. Turns out the truck had nearly run over a hot hiker, who was now telling them off for...something. He wasn't really listening. Her chest was far too...

"Are you even listening to me?" the girl spat, glaring at George.

"Um, yes," George lied swiftly.

"Oh? Then what was I saying?"

"You were just telling me how you'd like to take me on a date."

A silence hung over the conversation. Edward put his hand to his forehead.

_Female body, for Christ's sake!_ George thought to himself, sighing inwardly. The girl, however, raised an eyebrow and smiled mischievously.

"Perhaps I was _thinking_ that," she said slyly, but then quickly returned to her serious talk. "From the looks of it, things were getting intimate in there and you forgot to put the handbrake on. Do you know how dangerous that is?"

"Uh, we weren't – I mean, I'm not...I don't...like guys," George finished weakly, blushing.

"I was helping her find her hair band and I left the handbrake off. It's my fault," Edward added quickly. George nodded frantically. The girl looked vaguely amused.

I'm Heather," she said.

"Edward."

"I'm George," said George.

_...shit._

"Short for Georgina?" asked Heather.

_Oh, fuck. Thank you, God._

"Yes," George said, thankful Heather had come up with a new name for him. He smiled cheekily at her. Heather tilted her head, and then returned the expression.

"Well, we better go, _Georgina_," Edward said forcefully, tugging George towards the truck. George reluctantly followed.

Heather...

She was a very pretty girl, that was for certain. Asian (although her accent was American) with black hair that was uneven in length and spiky, and almond shaped, chocolate brown eyes. She'd worn baggy jogging hiking clothes, but even that couldn't hide her small yet slender frame from his expert eyes. She was no Amber – a girl back home who was so gorgeous she could be a supermodel – but she was definitely...cute.

George smiled dopily to himself as Edward frogmarched him back the vehicle.

"Edward," George hissed, nudging him again and regretting it instantly. "Ahhoowww."

"What?" Edward muttered back, not noticing that George's face with contorted in pain.

"Get her number."

"Why?"

"Because I said so! Just get the bloody thing!"

Edward rolled his eyes, but then called out to Heather.

"Heather!"

Heather turned, looking hopeful. "Yeah?"

"Can we-"

A cough from George quickly made Edward change his words.

"- _I_ get your number?"

A flicker of emotion passed over her face, but George couldn't identify it. Then she smiled and nodded, took the backpack off her back, and produced a pen and notebook, writing her number on it.

"Here," she said, shoving the piece of paper into Edward's hand. Then she winked at them and walked away. George watched her go, and then danced from foot to foot as the vampire opened the folded scrap of paper he'd been given. Edward read out a number and then paused, squinting at the paper.

"Call me," he said.

* * *

"Now _these_ are what I call humiliating photos!"

Bella groaned as she woke up, and looked around for the person who had spoken. Lauri was sat on the end of the sofa, flicking through a set of photographs. Then she noticed Bella was staring at her.

"George!" she cried, "You're awake! I heard you had a crazy moment back at college."

"I'm not crazy," Bella sighed, sitting up. "It's true."

Lauri folded her arms, amused. Her friend must have taken something at his last party at the weekend. She'd never known him to spout off such rubbish before. Maybe he...

"George," she said, her tone one of exasperation. "Look, I don't know what you're after, and frankly, I don't want to know, but claiming you're Bella Swan from Twilight is taking it too far. My sympathy doesn't cover blatant pretending just to get a glimpse at my ass."

There was a long pause.

"...What?" Bella said bluntly, unsure if she had heard Lauri correctly.

"Don't play dumb with me, mister. You've wanted a picture of my ass from day one-"

"No," Bella interrupted sharply, making Lauri blink. "What did you say about Twilight? What's Twilight?"

"Uh." Lauri watched George carefully, his features displaying honesty. That concerned her. It didn't look or sound like pretending anymore. "Twilight is a book written by Stephenie Flyer. Bella Swan is the main character. You...you should know this. You've ranted about it enough."

"A book character?" Bella gaped at her. "No. No, I...I can't be a book character. I'd just moved to Forks because my mom remarried. I'm a real person."

Lauri shuffled down the bed so that she was sat directly opposite her friend, staring long and hard into his eyes.

"Boobs," she said finally. A look of confusion flashed across the green eyes, but nothing else.

"Boobs?" Bella asked, wondering what the hell was going on.

"My god," Lauri whispered. "You're telling the truth!"

Bella nodded quickly, and then stopped. She had a question.

"Why do you suddenly believe me now?"

"If you want to know the answer to _that_ question after I just said boobs and nothing, uh, _usual_ happened, then you're definitely not George."

Bella decided not to ask.

Lauri took her phone out of her pocket and dialled Sarah's number. She had gotten it a few months ago after the Strawberry Trifle Incident (an incident which had somehow ended with George unconscious in Sarah's back garden wearing nothing but a pink thong and an oversized top hat). Luckily for George, only Sarah was home that morning, and she had located George's phone under his hat. Both Sarah and Lauri were determined such an incident would never happen again.

"Sarah?" Lauri said as someone picked up.

"Speaking."

"Hey, it's Lauri."

"Yeah, I saw on the caller ID. There hasn't been another 'Strawberry Trifle' has there?"

"No, there's not. All goats and hosepipes within the area were removed months ago. I made sure of that."

"Oh, okay. What's up?"

"Just been talking to George. I...I think I believe him, or should I say 'her.' I think Bella Swan really _is_ in his body."

"And why would you think that?"

Lauri quickly told her about the boob reaction (or lack of). The phone was silent for a few moments.

"I'll be right over."

* * *

"Google is the source of all knowledge," said Sarah, plonking herself down heavily in the computer chair. Bella sat on the bed, huddled in a little ball. Lauri had explained Twilight to her and had even shown her the copy of the book kept in the house. Everything was there: her mother remarrying, her move to Forks...and things that had been planned for her, too. She couldn't understand why she would fall in love with a vampire instead of running away, screaming...but maybe she if she'd actually met Edward, she would have felt differently.

"Can I...borrow that book, Lauri?" she asked her suddenly. Lauri stared suspiciously at Bella.

"Only if you promise not to eat it," she said finally, narrowing her eyes.

"Why would I-?" Bella began.

"Strawberry Trifle Incident," Sarah cut in, not looking up from the computer screen.

"Oh."

Sarah ignored Bella and typed in _'Stephenie Flyer.'_ Thousands and thousands of links appeared on the screen. Sarah sighed. Narrow the search...

'_Stephenie Flyer Georgasaurus'_

Again, hundreds of links appeared, causing Sarah to press her hand to her forehead. What else could she do to make this easier? An idea hit Sarah, and she quickly added a new phrase to the search:

'_Stephenie Flyer Georgasaurus Strawberry Trifle'_

Stephenie Flyer's personal blog appeared at the top of the page.

"Good thinking, Sarah," Lauri said with a smirk. "I told George word would get around eventually. Click on that top one."

Sarah nodded and did as she was told. Instantly, a LiveJournal page was brought up, the background plastered with Edward Cullen's face. The three girls leaned in to read the latest blog entry, their faces dropping as they did.

_FLYER – 1, FLAMER – 0_

_Hey, everyone! I can't keep this to myself any longer...I got revenge on a flamer! As you know, my books have caused a lot of controversy since their release (goodness knows why, because they're perfect), and a few weeks ago, I decided not to take such unhelpful, so-called 'constructive criticism' any longer. Thanks to a bit of work from my...friend, I've managed to trap this flamer into my book. Perhaps you've heard of him? His name is Georgasaurus, or 'George Dufresne.' You know. The guy involved in the Strawberry Trifle Incident. The funniest bit is he's in Bella's body! Ha! Not sure what happened to Bella, though. I guess she'll turn up._

_Anyway, another announcement is I'm releasing my next book soon. As by tradition, it will be given a terrible title in the attempt to make it sound edgy and fresh. My dear fans, I give you:_

_SOLAR-POWERED AFTERNOON_

_This epic tale is a rollercoaster novel of love, romance, and passion, with a few hot gypsies thrown in for the hell of it...oh, who am I kidding? This is Twilight told again in the viewpoint of Bella's truck._

_Hope you're looking forward to it!_

_Love,_

_Stephenie xxx_

A long silence fell over the room. Sarah and Lauri were absolutely stunned. They had to get George back...but how?

Bella, on the other hand, was tired of being kept in the dark.

"What on _earth_ is the Strawberry Trifle Incident?"

* * *

**A/N: Brownie points for anyone who gets the 'rollercoaster novel with gypsies' reference.**


	6. Derp if you're

**Derp if you're Horny**

George was nervous. Nervous as hell. So nervous, in fact, that he was tempted to back out of this right now and just forget about it. He'd done it before, right? He stood girls up all the time. Even Amber. They always came back for more.

George stood up and began pacing about frantically. All he had to do was call her and say _'Hey, Heather, want to hang out with Edward and I? I mention Edward because it will seem like I'm coming onto you if I don't mention him, which I am, but that's beside the point. You know what; I shouldn't even be calling you. You see, you're pretty and I'm nervous, which has never happened before, and I don't like that, so pretend I didn't ring you. Oh, and you're really pretty. Did I mention that? And that I'm nervous. Pretty nervous. Ha ha ha...'_

He suddenly felt embarrassed by his own inner monologue and stopped. All he needed to do was relax and everything would be alright. He sat down on his bed.

George glanced at the scrap of paper that Heather had given to Edward, and then took a breath, picking up the phone and dialling the number.

_The phone connected_

Perhaps this was a mistake. There were no lesbians or bisexuals in Twilight.

_One ring_

Or maybe there was. The only reason Heather hadn't appeared in Twilight was because Bella hadn't nearly run the poor girl over with a rampant truck by leaving the handbrake off.

_Two rings_

What was he thinking? He wasn't quite cut out to pretend to be a lesbian.

_Three rings_

Then again, men technically _were_ lesbians...

_Four rings_

Somehow.

_Five rings_

It was just weird, being in a girl's body so he could go out with her. He didn't know the first thing about how lesbians...

_Six rings_

Then again, he could always lear—

"Hello?" Heather's voice sounded through George's phone.

_Fuck shit fuck!_

He quickly fumbled for the button to end the call, and watched as the screen returned to its usual background.

Pathetic.

Feeling ashamed, George threw the phone onto the floor and put his face in his hands.

* * *

"So," Lauri said, pacing about the room holding a riding crop and wearing a tight leather cat suit, knee high leather boots, and a military officer's hat upon her head. "George has been taken by the evil Stephenie Flyer and it's our job to save him!"

Bella wondered why Lauri had changed into the cat suit and where she'd gotten the hat from. One moment she was staring at the computer screen, the next she'd marched out of the room and back in less than five minutes, fully changed. These people were extremely weird.

Sarah, on the other hand, was wearing a military officer uniform (and hat). She stood at a large blackboard; chalk in hand, ready to formulate a plan.

"Firstly," Sarah began, her tone one of extreme professionalism, "We need to infiltrate Flyer's home and see what we can learn about George's predicament."

She drew a simple sketch of a stick figure sneaking into a house with a big smile on its face. Bella raised an eyebrow whilst Sarah shrugged apologetically.

"I'm no art student. Anyway, once we've made it inside the house, we need to locate the computer that 'Twilight' has been saved on. Judging by Flyer's tone, he's actively involved in the story and she is able to view it, too. Obviously this means he's stuck inside the original Word document of the story."

"How is that obvious?" Bella asked, her brow furrowing. "For all we know, he could be in the book itself, couldn't he?"

"No." Lauri snorted and scowled at Bella. "If he was in the book itself, he wouldn't be _you_, would he? The book's printed; its pages are set in stone...or paper. Whatever. It can't be changed. The draft on a computer can be though, which is probably why you've been expelled into our world. The draft allows change...although just how much change, I don't know. He might have free will; he might not. The other characters may be aware of him or they may just act as if it's still you. We probably won't find out until we get him back."

"I..." Bella began but then stopped. She couldn't be bothered arguing with their ridiculous theory any longer. Let them carry on with whatever they were doing. She nodded and gave them a wary smile. The two uniformed girls winced at Bella and shook their heads sadly. It was obvious they missed their favourite male punch bag.

"Now, we'll just have to make a few calls to pull this operation off. You'll need all the support you can get, Bella."

"Wait, what?" Bella said, blinking. "This is _your_ idea! Your world; your friend! What have I got to do with this?"

"You are the most expendable out of all of us...mainly because you're Bella in George's body. Actually, just because you're George, really. But don't tell him that if you meet him before you return to the book. _You_ are the one who's going to sneak inside Flyer's pad and find out how George is doing. Maybe get us a backup copy of the story?"

"But," Bella replied, flabbergasted. "Are you thinking this through? I'm the clumsiest person, like, _ever_. I wouldn't be able to infiltrate her place if my life depended on it!"

"Well," said Sarah, smirking slightly. "We're hoping you can break some of her stuff by accident while you're there. Like a big 'fuck you' while you're breaking into her computer. And-"

"_And_," Lauri interrupted forcefully. "Your life _does_ depend on it. So you better get what we need. Got it?"

Bella sighed. Wherever this idiot 'George' was, she only hoped he was suffering for aggravating Stephenie Flyer and putting Bella in such a position to begin with.

* * *

"What on _earth_ is an ecks-bocks-three-sixty?" Edward said sharply, folding his arms and glaring.

"This!" George cried, waving his arms at the console on display in the shop. "This is an awesome way to spend your time! And with your super reflexes and senses and all that, you'll kick ass!"

"It's a plastic box filled with wires. How is that...a good way to entertain myself?"

"And your life is incredibly fulfilling already?"

"Yes, it is," Edward replied sniffing with distaste. George wanted to nudge him purely to irritate him, but the aching bruises along his arms reminded him that it wouldn't be a good idea.

"Piano, books, and watching me sleep at night – which, by the way, I keep telling you not to do – is not a particularly breathtaking lifestyle."

George had dragged Edward out during the day to the city to see if they had the second love of his life: videogames. Turns out the Twilight world was well stocked up on consoles and games, although the platforms and generations had been mixed up. Halo was now Playstation 3 exclusive, whilst Quake and the Legacy of Kain series were now for the Xbox 360.

This suited George fine, though. So long as he could keep his sanity and _game_, he may as well educate Edward on proper vampirism and being a normal teenager. At the same time.

It was the perfect plan.

Now all he had to do was convince Edward of its perfect perfection.

"Look." George picked up Blood Omen 2 and practically shoved it up Edward's nose. "This is a vampire. See his awesomeness and pointy teeth? Oh, not to mention his disregard for petty human lives. _That_ is a _proper_ vampire, Eddie-boy."

"Common peasant mythology, hyped and scripted to appease the masses."

"Okay, so it's not your thing. But I want it...and I have no money. You are going to buy it for me."

"I am?"

"Yes. Because I am wonderful and your girlfriend...or something."

Edward sighed and eyed the rows of games on the shelves with intense dislike.

"Fine. But don't try to make me...'game' with you."

* * *

"This is your leader, Lauri!" Lauri screamed down a megaphone in the middle of the town centre of Litrasa Unioli city. Bella covered her ears, her face contorting in pain at the sheer volume of the announcement.

"All must listen to me now! George, our beloved internet ruler has been captured and we must rescue him at once!"

The people in the street ignored Lauri, carrying on with their daily lives.

"God, damn it," Lauri grumbled. "Here, hold this."

Lauri thrust the megaphone into Bella's arms and strode into the middle of the plaza. She took her hat off and tossed it aside, her long, dark hair tumbling down freely. Then she began to dance, moving her body in a manner that could only be described as sensual. Every person in the plaza stopped dead to watch Lauri perform her lap dance. Even Bella suddenly felt vaguely aroused, which disturbed her somewhat.

Lauri swayed her hips and then threw back her head, holding herself in an unbearable sexy pose. The town was completely silent.

"Right," she said finally, glaring at them. "Now that I have your attention..."

* * *

"Dodge!" George yelled, throwing his arms into the air. "Dodge, dodge, dodge! He's got a sword, damn it!"

"I'm trying, I'm trying!" Edward cried frantically, pushing the buttons on the controller at random. The on-screen character, Kain, spun in a little circle, stabbed a man in the face, and then promptly fell off the docks and into a lake. Edward sighed as the game vampire burned to death in the deadly water and looked glumly at the controller in his hands. "How did you manage to convince me to do this?"

"Because," George replied tartly as he took the controller from Edward and restarted the level, "it's what normal people like me call _fun_."

"But I can't react fast enough!"

"You can. In fact, you're reacting too fast. You do shit so quickly the game doesn't register it and pulls up on a blank. You need to slow down and think things through _properly_."

"But that's so...human."

"And? You were human, once. You've spent so long pretending to be human that you've forgotten how good it is to actually _be_ human."

There was a long pause.

"That made sense to me. Somehow," George concluded with a nod, before turning his attention to the videogame.

Edward watched the television with interest as George breezed through the first level. The vampire couldn't help but smile as the game character hacked and slashed his way through countless humans, killing innocents whenever his bloodlust needed to be sated. Or sometimes just for the hell of it. Edward decided that if George acted the way he did in real life as he did in games, he would be a very successful (if extremely ruthless) vampire. He also felt a pang of loss.

What was his life right now? If what George said was true, then he was nothing but a book character with no purpose but to love a plain, seventeen year old girl unconditionally. At first he had loved George as such, too...but the passionate feelings which had driven him crazy – constantly begging him to be acted upon – had been slowly replaced with a much gentler, warm sensation. George, once an object of unexplainable lust, had become his...friend.

Friend?

Edward hadn't had a friend since he had become a vampire, with the exception of his family. However, his patience was wearing thin with them, too. The people he'd admired and loved were now becoming the source of great tension in his mind. One side of him wanted life to return to the way it was, when he was supposed to be a so-called 'vegetarian' and go to high school, mingling amongst the humans. But another part of him – a part that was becoming much more dominant with every passing day – was becoming aware of the monotony of his existence. He could be so much better...he could lead a truly glorious lifestyle if he wanted to.

Why mingle and stay with his family? With his mind-reading ability, he could become a journalist or a psychologist...find ways to exploit people; exploit the system. Edward had already stopped going to the school and even started showing off a little in front of humans.

This angered Carlisle greatly, which was unsurprising. Carlisle had built a life here in Forks, and had everything he'd ever wanted...which Edward thought wasn't very much. The doctor had been furious with him, mentioning the Volturi and trying to stop him leaving the house.

Edward had left anyway. He'd wanted to 'hang out' with his friend, as George often put it.

Not that George didn't irritate him. The human was obnoxious, cocky, swore too much, and repeated comments on 'real vampires' as if _he_ knew best over Edward. Yet at the same time, George's personality and wit was a refreshing change from the teenagers of the high school and the adults of Forks. Plus, he had introduced Edward to the 'ecks-bocks', which was actually extremely fun (although he would never admit it to George).

"Finished!" George said happily, tossing the controller into Edward's lap as the level ended. "How shit do you feel right now, huh?"

"Did you call Heather?" Edward said quickly, trying not to give George an opportunity to gloat.

"Uhh." The human suddenly flushed red. "No, I didn't. Not at all!"

Edward arched an eyebrow but didn't comment. Instead he picked up the phone and dialled Heather's number.

"What are you doing?" George asked. The vampire grinned at him as the phone rang. George suddenly realised and dove for the phone with a yell.

Whatever George had been expecting to achieve, it didn't happen. He simply bounced off Edward's stony exterior, crashing to the floor and knocking himself out. The vampire glanced at his friend for a moment, unconcerned, and then smiled as Heather answered.

"Hi, Heather. It's Edward. Remember me? I nearly ran you over in a truck while you were hiking. Yes, _that_ Edward. Anyway, Georg—_ina_ and I were just wondering if you'd like to...'hang out' with us for a while?"

Heather agreed enthusiastically and Edward gave her an address, before saying his goodbyes and hanging up.

George was still unconscious. Edward prodded the human in the ribs with his foot and then sighed at the lack of response. He hoped his friend would awaken before Heather arrived, otherwise he'd have some explaining to do.

* * *

One bottle of hot sauce later and Edward was still no closer to waking George up. He was also pretty sure he'd blocked the human's airways by pouring the entire bottle into his mouth, but humans didn't need to breathe that often, did they?

In actual fact, it turned out humans _did_ need to breathe that often if Biology lessons were to be believed, as was evidenced by the decidedly blue tinge George's face was currently undertaking.

"Damn those Biology lessons," Edward muttered, aware that Biology had been the class where the whole George thing had started. He knelt down and tilted George's head back, inspecting his open mouth. The distinct gurgling noises did nothing to comfort Edward.

Well, hot sauce was out, at any rate.

"It's not working," he mumbled to himself. "Maybe I should give him mouth to mouth?"

Edward tilted George, draining out the hot sauce as best as he could onto the carpet, took a deep breath, and then pressed his mouth against his friend's. Immediately fire raged across his tongue and he stood up waving his arms, nearly tripping backwards over the bed. He'd only used hot sauce for the overpowering burning sensation that came with it...only now it had backfired. What idiot gave mouth to mouth to someone gurgling on hot sauce?

Edward, apparently, and now he was paying for his stupidity.

Barely able to contain himself, Edward moaned as he sprinted to the bathroom to wash his mouth out.

When he returned, George was still out, and also had a strange look of utter disgust on his face. Edward sighed as a knock sounded at the door. He'd answer it in a minute. This was more important.

Crouching over George, Edward could only think of one more method that might possibly work. So deep in concentration was he, he failed to hear the front door open and footsteps sounding up the stairs. Edward took a deep breath.

"Lesbians making out on your bed!" he bellowed. George's eyes snapped open and he sat bolt upright.

"What, where?" he cried, before clashing heads violently with Edward, who hadn't been able to move out of the way fast enough. There was a dull thunk and George flopped back onto the floor, unconscious once again.

"God damn it," Edward sighed as Heather walked in. She looked at the two teenagers before her and then smirked.

"Interrupting something, am I?"

* * *

"This is the day we say no more to the oppressive reign of Twilight in our bookstores! This is the day we burn her illiterate pages, lynch her insane fans, and destroy the empire she has created! Oh, and maybe rescue George in the process. Who's with me?"

A cheer rang out amongst the crowd and Lauri grinned triumphantly, hands on hips as she looked at the rally of people she had swayed to her cause with a simple shaking of her ass. Only one person shook his head and continued on with life, not caring enough to get involved. Lord Fohr Fowsand Celcius, Lord of 4000 Celciuses and unofficial mayor of Litrasa Unioli city, picked up his flamethrower and shuffled away, preparing to combat terrorists who were planning an attack on the city for the ban on Twilight being sold in their local shops.

Suddenly, a voice cried out from mass of people.

"I object!" the woman roared, pointing an accusing finger at Lauri. Lauri scowled. Rebels to her great scheme would be put down...forcibly. And she knew exactly how to do it...

"Silence!" Lauri yelled, before hurling the megaphone at the one who had objected. The woman ducked, disappearing into the crowd and out of Lauri's sight. A young teenager jumped up in excitement, not understanding the situation.

"Derp derp," he said happily, before being hit in the face with a megaphone.

"Opposition will be dealt with swiftly and most brutally. Now we must march onwards...to the place of Flyer!"

Lauri pointed to the direction of the author's house, the horizon tainted with blood-red sunset. Bella shivered. Somehow, the streaks of scarlet in the sky felt like an ill omen to her.


	7. Please Pass the Mayo

**Please Pass the Mayo**

"Hi there."

The man guarding the entrance to the house looked up, raising an eyebrow (and other body parts) at the sight before him. This disturbed him somewhat, as he was no hormonal thirteen year old boy...but then again...

"I love a man in uniform," Lauri purred, hands on her hips. The guard looked her up and down and decided he liked what he saw: a sexy figure in tight leather clinging to every curve...and that riding crop...

"I'm Pepito," he said standing up and walking over to her. Lauri's eyes lingered to his crotch and she smirked. He shrugged at her shamelessly. "I'm sure you get that reaction all the time, no?"

"Oh, I don't know," Lauri sighed, twirling a small section of hair around her finger. "Most people don't have the honour of seeing me clad in leather."

As he drew closer she winked and began to saunter away, her hips moving seductively as she walked.

"Hey!" Pepito jogged after her and caught her arm. Lauri smacked his fingers sharply with the riding crop.

"Look, but don't touch," she said smoothly as Pepito cried out and clutched at his fingers. While the guard soothed his pain, Lauri nodded carefully to Bella, who sprinted for the gate, trying to climb it.

"So, you think you're worthy?" Lauri said loudly, trying to cover the rattling of the gate. Couldn't Bella be quieter?

Her question was answered when Bella slipped and let out a shriek as she crashed to the floor.

"Wha-?" Pepito began, turning to look over his shoulder. Immediately, Lauri caught his cheek with the crop, glaring at him.

"Did I give you permission to turn?" she asked, folding her arms. "Looks like I'm going to have to train you to behave, you bad boy."

Pepito stared at her with narrowed eyes. Clearly something was going on here and something was happening behind him that he probably should be stopping. While he didn't appreciate being smacked across the face with a stick, this woman was rather good looking. The bulge in his pants was urging him to play stupid.

_Miss Flyer is paying you to protect her house from vandals! _his conscience said indignantly.

_Yeah, but come on_, he replied inwardly to his conscience. _Leather and a riding crop._

His conscience seemed to consider that for a moment.

_Good point,_ it said finally. _Carry on_.

Pepito straightened up and smiled winningly at her. What would turn this fine lady on?

After some thought, he settled for growling sexily at her. She froze, her eyes widening, her grip on the crop tightening.

"Sorry," he said quickly, certain he had somehow offended her.

"You will be," she said darkly, dropping the crop and tackling him into a set of bushes.

Bella watched with a small amount of amusement (and a large amount of mortification) as Lauri had her way with the guard. She had no idea what had happened. The plan had been to distract him, not...

Shaking her head in disgust, Bella struggled up the fence for a moment, wanting to get away from the awkward noises within her earshot. She gave up after a few minutes, sliding to the ground. So much for male upper body strength; it was _hopeless_. This whole plan was a waste of her time. But what time did she have to waste, really? She had nowhere to go, no one to turn to; she might as well help these fuckin' idiots with their stupid, fuckin' plans...

"Fucking morons," she spat, trying to block out the sounds around her. Then she paused.

Bella had never uttered an expletive in her life. She'd never sounded so bitter or angry before, either. From what she'd gathered, though, George was renowned for his foul mouth and fluctuating temper. Was she becoming like...?

Before Bella could dwell on it further, a pair of trousers flew out from the bushes, landing on the floor with a flump. Bella's eyes widened as a set of keys bounced free of the trouser pocket they resided in, settling not far from her.

"Excellent," she said, smirking. Smirking was another thing she didn't do often, but for the moment she decided not to care. She could figure it out later once she'd broken into dumb bitch Flyer's home and—

"Stop it," she said loudly to herself, picking up the keys and opening the gate quickly.

* * *

Stephenie sighed and sat up in her bed. She was restless again, and felt slightly uneasy. Also, there were strange noises drifting through her open window. That didn't help.

A crash downstairs made the author jumped and clutch at her chest in surprise. Perhaps there was a fan outside mauling her guard while another intended to break into her home and steal Flyer trophies! Yes, that would be it. What other reason could anyone want to break into her home?

Picking up her iron cast statue of Edward off the table to use as a weapon, Stephenie left her bedroom and crept across the landing, straining to hear the possible intruder. Footsteps sounded from the kitchen below, and Stephenie breathed in sharply, beginning to panic. There was someone downstairs! What could she do?

The author scurried down the stairs and slunk into the kitchen, squinting through the darkness. A figure stood by the fridge, glancing about as if they were looking for something.

Not waiting for an explanation, Stephenie charged at the stranger, statuette raised, screaming as she did.

Bella turned to the source of the noise, tripping over her own feet and ending up sprawled on the floor just as Flyer swung for her head. The Edward statue made contact with the fridge, putting a huge dent in it and taking part of the handle off.

"Are you crazy?" Bella cried hysterically, trying to push herself away from her attacker.

Stephenie froze and then slowly reached out to the switch on the wall. Light flooded the room and she gasped, dropping the statuette with a loud clunk. Before her was her character, Bella, exactly like she imagined her.

"Bella!" she cried, kneeling down and hugging Bella tightly.

"You...can see me as a girl?" Bella choked, her ability to breathe cut off in Stephenie's death grip.

"Of course I can! You are a girl after all," Stephenie said with an endearing smile. Bella decided not to question it. Perhaps because the author knew her character inside out she could see Bella's 'true form' instead of George, like everyone else.

Bella stared at Stephenie intently, thoroughly disturbed. The author looked like an older version of Bella, plumper and with more wrinkles. She offered her hand out to Bella, who – with a slight hesitation – accepted it, allowing herself to be pulled to her feet. She quickly found herself upright and stumbled straight towards Stephenie, who caught her.

"Whoops!" said the author, beaming at her character. Bella was a little unnerved at how friendly her creator was with her and laughed a little too loudly. Stephenie didn't seem to notice, though, and gestured for Bella to sit at the table.

"Let me get you a drink." She opened the cupboard and pulled out a jar of honey, a bottle of fizzy lime juice, and a glass. Adding copious amounts of honey in the glass, Stephenie then poured the lime in – which she had heated first in the microwave in a container – slopping a sizable amount onto the counter. She mixed it together thoroughly and then passed it to Bella. Bella sniffed it and then recoiled in distaste.

"What is this?"

"It's my favourite drink! I figured because I like it, you might, too. In fact, I decided you would."

Bella grimaced, not at all keen on the woman before her announcing what she did and did not like, and then took a small sip to appease her host. Then she paused.

"This...is really good!" Bella took another, bigger mouthful. The hot, thick liquid slid smoothly down her throat, warming the pit of her stomach.

"You sound surprised."

"Well, it's...honey...and lime. Not a usual drink is it?"

"But that is what makes it so great; so special! Just like you, Bella! You are my special snowflake."

Bella forced a smile, the unsettling, disturbed feeling returning in full force. There was a long silence while Stephenie stared at her in adoration. Bella coughed.

"So...I was wondering-" she began.

"Yes?" Stephenie interrupted eagerly.

"Can I have a copy of the manuscript?"

The author's eyes narrowed. "Why?"

"Well, I've only just found out that I'm from a book. I don't even know how I got here. I want to read what might have been and..."

Bella had been reading Lauri's copy of Twilight religiously for the last few days. If anything would convince the author to hand over the copy containing George, it would be romance.

"...and I want to know if I ever had a chance at love."

The suspicious expression slid off Stephenie's face instantly. Without saying a word, she grabbed hold of Bella's arm and dragged her into the study. Bella found herself practically thrown into a computer chair, where a glowing screen awaited her. She watched in amazement, as the document on the computer appeared to be writing itself. Bella leaned forward, picking a sentence at random.

'_Heather's legs buckled and she collapsed to the floor, screaming. Panic choked her. She was going to die, but she didn't know why-'_

"Who is Heather?" Bella asked nervously. She didn't remember any of this in Lauri's copy of Twilight.

"A new character. She only exists in that copy. She's not important."

"A new character?"

"Well, you've swapped places with someone called George – long story – and he's in this copy of the book. It seems characters that could have existed in Twilight do exist when George encounters them."

"But she's dying?"

Stephenie shrugged. "She's not one of my characters. She doesn't matter."

Bella suddenly felt very sick. True, book characters weren't real...but she herself was one. She existed. Stephenie knew Bella existed. To disregard other possibly _living_ characters as unimportant...and yet they were still characters; they didn't exist...going in circles, circles, circles...

Bella couldn't explain her outrage to herself, never mind Stephenie, so she kept quiet. The author seemed not to notice and instead saved a copy of the self-writing document onto a pen drive.

"Here," she said, pressing it into Bella's hands. "Take it."

Bella did.

"It's read only." Stephenie wore a knowing smile. "So you can't switch yourself and George back."

"You know," Bella said, standing up so abruptly that she knocked the computer chair over, "I don't think I want to go back to your flawed excuse for a world anyway."

Before Stephenie could utter another word, Bella had strode briskly out of the room, heading for the front door. She bit her lip tightly, drawing blood; she didn't trust herself not to shout.

* * *

Edward and George stared at the basket in Heather's hand. Heather was confused; the way they were looking at it suggested they thought it contained a nuclear warhead.

"It's a nice day outside," she said brightly, "which is pretty rare for Forks, so I thought we could have a picnic!"

George's face paled. Edward's would have, too, but he was white as a sheet on a normal day, so the difference wasn't noticeable. If the vampire stepped out into the sun in front of Heather, he look like the 4th of July and she'd _know_...

It suddenly occurred to George that this could be a good thing. He had to break Twilight, right? What better way to do it than to alert the rest of humanity to Edward's true nature and get the Volturi on his ass?

He shook his head. George didn't want to hurt Edward; despite everything, Edward had become something George had thought impossible: his friend.

"Why are you shaking your head?" Heather tutted. "Scared of a little sunlight?"

Edward smiled weakly.

"I've left a camera in my room," George said before Heather could continue. "You get the camera and we'll set up the picnic, yeah?"

Heather arched an eyebrow but said nothing. She handed him the basket and walked out of the kitchen. Edward turned to George, his features twisted with panic.

"What are you doing?" he hissed. "If I take one step into the sun, she'll know what I am!"

"Yeah, but only if you let the sunlight shine on you."

"We're going _outside._ In the sun. Sunlight's a common thing there."

"No shit. Look, I have it covered."

As Edward began to retort, George opened a cupboard and threw something at him. He caught it and stared, uncertain as to whether the human was joking or not.

"You have to be kid-"

"Nope."

* * *

Heather shielded her eyes from the vicious light as she stepped out of the house. The camera was nowhere to be seen, even though she had looked for nearly fifteen minutes. She suspected that George had lied about it although she couldn't fathom why.

Now that she thought about it, there were a lot of strange things about George. Edward, too, although they were the obvious kind of strange: pale skin, a curt way of speaking, never eating or drinking. George was a different kind of odd. He...she...had a way of acting as if she knew what was going to happen; Heather also always had the greatest urge to say 'he' instead of 'she', and not because of George's name.

Heather felt chills whenever she looked at George. George didn't belong; she was dangerous and the air of destruction around her was so clear it was impossible to ignore...and yet she was drawn to the peculiar girl anyway.

And it wasn't just the disturbing emotions she experienced when she was around George; she couldn't remember much before George and Edward. Her only clear memories were the two months she had spent hanging out with them. It was like she hadn't existed until...

The thoughts Heather's head suddenly became excruciatingly painful and she stopped them immediately. She halted, dazed, and rubbed her eyes. What was...who...she was supposed to be...the sun...the sun was so, so _bright_—

"Heather!"

Heather jumped and glanced up to see George waving frantically at her from underneath a massive tree. She raised her hand to wave back and then spotted the dark figure shrouded in the shade.

"What the hell?"

Edward sulked under his umbrella as Heather ran over to them. He nodded to her briefly, his hooded raincoat squeaking obnoxiously. Had he not been wearing huge sunglasses, Heather would have seen that he was scowling deeply.

"Heather!" George cried, making huge gestures with his arms, clutching a pot of glitter in one hand. He squeezed it so that the lid popped off and glitter cascaded down on Edward. "_Oops._ Oh dear. Oh well, I am so sorry Edward, but at least it will clean off later, yeah?"

Edward spat out a mouthful of glitter in response. George shot a winning smile at Heather.

"Uh..." Heather was lost for words.

"Sit down and have some lovely food," George interrupted, pushing on her shoulders until her knees buckled and she plopped down onto the floor. For a moment, she considered asking what was going on, and then decided against it. Shrugging, she opened the basket and helped herself to the treats she had prepared earlier that day.

Heather bit into a sandwich and then grimaced, realising she hadn't put mayonnaise on it.

"Edward, could you pass the mayo, please?"

Edward nodded—

_squeak squeak_

—and passed her the mayonnaise—

_squeeeeeeeeeak_

—with a smile. Then he noticed her expression was frozen in place. She was staring at his hand with wide eyes. Edward followed her line of sight and realised what she was staring at. His heart skipped a beat. He had forgotten to wear gloves.

"Gosh, that glitter is _bright_," George said loudly, his voice nervous. "You're going to dazzle us if you don't _put your hand away now_."

Edward placed the mayonnaise down in front of Heather and quickly drew his hand back to the safe shade of his umbrella. The girl was still staring at him. He stood up, dropping the umbrella, and walked as fast as he could back to the house.

George sighed in despair. Heather turned to him.

"You better have a good explanation for this."


	8. God Put a Smile Upon Your Face

**God Put a Smile Upon Your Face**

'_Edward strode into the room, oozing with confidence. He wore no clothes and was covered from head to toe in whipped cream; chocolate sprinkles and strawberries were scattered at certain places to highlight Edward's yumminess. On top of his head rested a tennis ball sized cherry, red and vibrant._

_The beautiful – and thin – Stephenie Flyer lay artfully on a sofa dressed only in a skimpy, semi-transparent nightdress. She smiled at him, an air of playfulness about her, and then clapped her hands. A gang of shirtless sailors dived through the windows, radiating manliness._

_They were here for the badonka-donk slut-fest that their mistress had promised them, and by god were they going to claim what was owed to them. Eyeing Edward up momentarily, they pounced, losing the remainder of their clothes in the process._

_In the background, the stereo blasted out a wild techno tune, the 'unn-tshh, unn-tshh, unn-tshh' driving Stephenie crazy. Slowly, she slid her hand between her legs as the sailors had their way with Edward and...and...she—'_

Stephenie stopped typing and sighed. What she was writing was truly awful; so bad that even _she _could see and admit to it. Usually inserting herself into a saucy lemon with Edward helped to calm her nerves, but after her unexpected confrontation with Bella, she could barely concentrate.

"_I don't think I want to go back to your flawed excuse for a world anyway."_

Flawed world? Stephenie chewed her lip and twisted a lock of hair around her finger. The world she had made for Bella and Edward had been perfect in every way. Bella had been adored and appreciated by everyone and snagged the hottest guy in the school. He loved her unconditionally, protected her from all the danger he brought with him, and even watched her sleep uninvited; he was that devoted. What was there not to like?

Stephenie closed the document she had been writing without bothering to save it. The dark room became filled with the glow of the other story. She watched as the words skittered across the screen by themselves and wished they would hurry up. George would get his comeuppance soon enough; he would regret ever slighting her and wanted to be there the moment he realised his mistake.

"Breaking my world has consequences, George," Stephenie whispered to the computer, the light giving her features a new haunting and sinister look. "And when you discover what they are, it will be too late..."

* * *

"_George?"_

"_Yes?"_

"_Where do we go?"_

"_What?"_

"_When we die...when we no longer exist...where do we go?"_

"_Nobody knows."

* * *

_

Heather sat on George's bed, knees drawn up to her chin. She hugged her legs tightly and said nothing, letting her friend do all the talking. She'd spent a lot of time around George recently; Edward had refused to go near her since the picnic incident. In a way, it hurt that he wouldn't speak or see her, but at the same time, she felt relieved. There was something about Edward that bothered her—

_sparkles_

A pain shot through Heather. She shook her head and tried to focus on what George was saying.

"...and then this dude turned from a butterfly into a frog – something about ego, apparently – and then everyone started turning into frogs-"

"What?" Heather looked up at George and stared. "Have you been taking something?"

"Me?" George looked indignant. "Never! I was telling you about my friends back home. This was just after some lady burst into mine and Lauri's wedding and objected, so we almost couldn't get married-"

"You're a girl. You can't get married to another girl."

"Oh shit, I forgot..."

Heather raised an eyebrow while the other girl blushed. She studied George's flushed cheeks and felt a slight flipping sensation in her stomach. George was kinda cute when she blushed...

"Don't be stupid," she said aloud, before realising she'd spoken. Luckily, George thought it was directed at her.

"Sorry," George mumbled, his face upgrading from tinged pink to fiery red. Heather felt the sudden urge to put her arm around her friend and comfort her. Maybe more.

She stood up abruptly, not liking the strange feelings she was suddenly having. Since when had she thought about another girl that way? Heather's head began to spin; she slowly sunk back down onto the bed, hand clutching at her forehead.

"Heather?" George ventured, concerned.

"I'm fine," Heather snapped, jerking her arm away from George when she tried to comfort her. There was a long silence. George slid off the bed and wandered over to the window, unsure what to do or say. Girls were _weird_ sometimes. They got so moody over nothing and then said 'fine' when they clearly weren't and—

"Actually, no," Heather mumbled. "I'm not fine. Far from it."

_I knew it_, George thought smugly to himself. Then he caught sight of Heather's expression and felt his insides freeze. She looked...empty. Hollow. A dead shell. Heather glanced up at him, tears dripping down from her eyes.

"Who _are_ you?" she whispered, bunching the sleeves of her green, baggy jumper up in her fists. "_What_ are you?"

"Uh." George wasn't sure if it was a trick question or not. "I'm George. Your friend."

"Don't play dumb with me." Heather's voice escaped as a violent hiss, causing George to recoil from her in surprise. She pushed herself to her knees and pulled hard at her black hair.

"You're wrong, Georgina Dufresne. You're all _wrong_. You give me chills, y-you make me feel like I'm in danger; as if looking at you is something that isn't supposed to happen. Just being around you seems like you're not meant to be here; l-luh-like _I'm _n-not meant t-t-to be huh-here!

"I can't remember anything before you and Edward. I can't remember anything and when I try to remember or think about what I don't know; my head...God my h-head..."

A wail of pain and anguish escaped Heather's lips and she doubled over, fingers clutching at her scalp desperately. Her whole body was shaking, as if she was trying to simply hold herself together; to keep herself in existence. When she looked up again, George's jaw dropped. Her skin had become pale and dark shadows lay under her dull eyes.

_She's failing, _George said to himself, horrified. _She's failing as a character: cracking and dying._

"The picnic," Heather gasped. Speaking had become a terrible effort. "Why...why did Edward spuh-sparkle? Yuh-you _know_ why, don't you? It wuh-wasn't guh-glitter...n-n-nuh-not _glitter._ Tell me why-"

"There's nothing to tell," George shot back, striding across the room to the door. Seeing Edward's true nature was tearing her apart, killing her. She wasn't a proper character of Twilight. By all rights, she shouldn't exist. She had only been safely living in the Twilight world because she hadn't disrupted the timeline in any way. But now George was taking apart the Twilight world and Heather had been helping, whether she knew it or not.

_When it's one person against the universe, the universe will always win, _George mused bitterly. If he told her the truth and she realised what she was, it could destroy her. Yet he himself wasn't a true character of Twilight and was still here...same went for Edward, who was the damn gun George had been using to shoot Flyer's story in the kneecaps. Maybe, just maybe...

He glanced back at Heather, scared of the condition she was in, scared for her. It wasn't something he was used to.

"You don't look so good. Maybe we should get you to a hospi-"

"It cuh-can wait. Tuh-tell me what you nuh-know..."

"Heather-"

"Tell me!" she screamed, grabbing the nearest object off the window ledge and hurling it at him; the cup sailed over George and hit the door frame. It shattered on impact, raining down mouldy tea and bits of cup all over him.

"You're a character from a book!" George bellowed at her, losing his temper. The words rushed from his mouth before he could stop himself. "You're a book character and not even one that's in the real story! You're only here because I changed the plot and nearly ran you over with a truck! You're nothing, Heather, and you exist because of _me!_"

Neither one uttered a word .The heavy silence hung in the atmosphere like thick, choking mist. George studied Heather for a moment as he caught his breath back. Her skin had slowly gained some of its colour back, although she still looked ill. Finally, she spoke.

"You," she said, stepping off the bed and scooping up her bag off the floor, "are insane. Crazy! I'm going now. Don't follow me or speak to me again. Book character! You're fuckin' _high_."

Heather stormed out, shivering. George held his breath as she stomped down the stairs and then sighed as he heard the front door slam. He regretted what he had said but there was no way to take it back now. At least he could hope she would continue to think him crazy than to believe and die.

His chest was hurting.

* * *

"Edward, what are you doing?"

The voice of his mother set Edward's teeth on edge. He glanced over to her, glaring deeply.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" he snarled from behind a mask of talcum powder. He shook his head so that the talcum dusting his hair erupted up in a cloud of white. "I'm hiding this ridiculous vampire trait. Sparkles? How have we lasted so long as predators when we _sparkle_?"

Esme stepped back, surprised. This creature dowsing himself with talcum powder was not her son. Her son was kind, gentle, quiet, and not so obnoxious and outspoken...

"I can read your mind," Edward snapped. "If you have anything to say, then just say it. It's not like you can hide from me anyway."

Esme stared at the other vampire and then took a breath.

"I'm worried about you, Edward," she said softly, twisting her hands together. "I'm worried about you hanging around with _that girl_ and her friend. They're humans; can't you see you'll only bring harm to them and to yourself?"

Edward shrugged.

"It's all a lie anyway, Esme. When the time is right, I'm leaving. The Volturi will probably deal with me long before then."

Esme flinched at being called by her name so coldly. Then she realised what Edward had said.

"The Volturi? Edward, what have you done?"

Edward's phone began to ring in his pocket. Before Esme could protest, he'd strode out of his room and out onto the landing. He knew she would try to follow him and so made his way down the stairs and outside, away from her. Edward noted that it was George calling and answered the phone.

"Hello?"

"I told Heather she was a book character! God, I'm an idiot."

"Nice to see you, too," Edward replied, his voice laced heavily with sarcasm.

"Shut up!" George snarled down the phone. "What the hell am I supposed to do now? She said she doesn't want to talk to me again! Oh, Christ..."

"Have you tried calling her back? She might have calmed down already," the vampire suggested, rolling his eyes at the teen drama.

"You think that will work?"

"Well it can't hurt to try."

"Good thinking, Eddie boy! I'll call you back when it fails miserably and she slaps a restraining order on me!"

"Well you _are_ trying to screw up my world, no? Might make a difference if 'Bella' receives the order and not me." Edward said.

"Asshole."

The line went dead.

_Women_, Edward complained inwardly. _They create such drama out of nothing. I wouldn't be surprised if George was really a girl...

* * *

_

The air felt heavy. Heather half-walked half-ran down the street, rubbing at her eyes every so often to rid them of the tears. She was shaken by George's words. How could she have not noticed how disturbed her friend was before now? Book character...it was absolutely absurd. Had George been conjuring up a little fantasy world to help the days go by? Heather paused. Maybe she should contact the hospital, have George put away...

The sudden suggestion startled her. That wasn't something she would do; it was like there was someone placing the words in her head for her, bending her to their will...as if someone wanted George out of the picture...

_Book character._

Two words. They screamed at her now, begging for her to notice them.

_Book character._

Heather wasn't sure whether she believed it or not, but she sensed it would be safer to think George sick in the head than to challenge her own reality. Ignorance was warm and comforting, like being blissfully trapped in the womb. Heather welcomed it; there was no pain in ignorance.

_Book character._

Shuddering, Heather rubbed her hands together. It was steadily becoming colder and yet it wasn't winter. She had never experienced such low temperatures in Forks before; her breath was turning to steam.

The odd thing was George never said that she herself was a book character, just Heather. If...if it was all true, then what was George? Not a character, so...the author?

The reader?

It suddenly occurred to Heather that she didn't know the way to her house. She couldn't even remember where her house was...what it looked like...anything. Did she even have a home to go to? Heather noticed then that her surroundings had changed. She recognised the street but the colour...the colour was all gone. Everything was in black and white...was it all fading?

Shivering now, Heather forced herself to take another step forward. The world became almost sketchy as it began to drain away, leaving only skeletons behind. The road ahead led to impenetrable darkness, so Heather turned to run back to George's place. Her breath caught in her throat as her eyes widened.

George's house was gone, the same deep black shrouding where it had once been. It looked like she was trapped in the dark, a narrow spotlight highlighting her point in existence. And the cold...

Heather stared at the inky black now blocking her path. George was through there. She knew it and yet...

She was afraid. Afraid to step into the unknown: afraid what may be lurking there for her in the deep...afraid that she may never return.

_Book character._

It was then that Heather believed. It was also then that a strange sensation came over her hands. She glanced down at them to see that they were fading away to nothing, leaving only empty spaces.

Heather's legs buckled and she collapsed to the floor, screaming. Panic choked her. She was going to die, but she didn't know why. Watching with increasing horror, Heather saw the material of her pants sag and flatten as their contents vanished.

As the world began to dim, realisation hit her. She was a book character; that she had accepted. What she hadn't considered was the obvious. When a character was no longer in the presence – the sphere of awareness – of the reader, what happened to them?

Nothing. Nothing happened to a character that was not in the immediate mind of the reader. They ceased to exist.

Heather was no longer part of George's thoughts; she did not exist, and now that she was aware that she was fictional, she was also aware that she was being wiped away.

"Oh please, oh please don't let me die," she sobbed, staring up at the spotlight in the sky. "I don't want to die. I want to live...I want to live...oh...oh please..."

The spotlight began to flicker as Heather's vision blackened at the edges. She felt light, cold, and alone. She felt numb. She—

Somewhere in the distance, a phone rang.

Warmth washed over Heather so quickly, it took her a few moments to even register it. The dull colours of the street were so bright that she felt blinded. She tilted her head to the source of the noise and squinted. Then she cried out in relief. Her body was whole again!

A car beeped its horn at her, the driver leaning out of his window to tell her to get the hell out of the middle of the road. Heather nodded mutedly and dragged herself to the pavement. In the back pocket of her jeans, her phone buzzed gently against her leg. She took it out, shaking and checked caller ID. The blood froze in her veins.

_George Dufresne._

Heather flipped open the phone so quickly, she nearly dropped it.

"George?" she gasped, clutching the phone to her face. "George, is that you?"

"Heather," George began, sounding uncertain about Heather's obvious distress. "Look, I'm sorry for what I said; just forget it, it means nothing—"

"I believe you."

"What?"

"I believe you. I'm in the street outside your house. Please...please come and get me. But...stay on the phone. God, just stay on the phone."

George told her he would and then ran down the stairs. Something had happened to make her see he was telling the truth; what else would make her change her mind so quickly?

Once outside, George scanned the area until he saw Heather, and then sprinted wildly over to her.

"Heather—" he began, closing his phone, but had the wind knocked out of him when she threw herself at him, sobbing. He knelt slowly to the ground and held her tightly, stroking her hair while Heather clutched at his shirt and wept into his shoulder like she never wanted to let go. George waited until her crying had subsided and then carefully pulled her away to look her in the eye.

"What happened?" he asked gently. Heather recounted her tale as George listened. When she reached the part where she had started to disappear, Heather burst into tears again and had to wait a few moments before shakily continuing her story.

The details scared George. If he let her out of his sight again, she would die.

"Do you have anywhere to go? he asked when Heather had finished. She shook her head.

"That was one of the scariest things; I don't know where I live or if I even have a house. Where have I been going every time I'm not with you?"

The question was rhetorical so George didn't answer.

"Can I...can I stay with you?" she said after a long silence. George nodded.

"And while you're with me I can tell you everything." He smiled at her.

Despite herself, Heather felt a weak smile form upon her face.

* * *

_A/N: Inspiration for this chapter came from Coldplay's 'God Put a Smile Upon Your Face.' Inspiration came in more than one form, but I expect only the LUers, lurkers of the LU forum, and my friends to catch the less obvious reference._


	9. Bonds of Blood

**Bonds of Blood**

Revving up the motorbike, George raced down the empty, rain-slicked woodland path, the overhead moonlight reflecting off his black motorcycle helmet. Protective leather of the same colour covered every inch of his body and he felt free as he picked up speed. Lauri would be so jealous.

On the back of the motorbike was Heather, clinging to George for dear life. She was also clad in leather, but she seemed less enthusiastic about it than he was. Behind them was Edward, jogging lazily to keep up with their vehicle. He looked bored at how slow the humans were going in comparison to his normal running pace, but Heather had refused to be carted around by a vampire.

George had been forced to chat up Jacob long enough for Edward to knock him out mid distraction and tie him up. Most likely, it would spark some sort of early vampire-werewolf war, but George didn't care. It would probably help him get home earlier anyway. Edward had been annoyed that George hadn't just used the truck before George reminded him that last time he had driven the truck, he'd run someone off the road into a massive, deadly, inferno. Heather herself couldn't drive, and the vampire had stated the truck fumes had left him nauseous for the rest of the week, so he wouldn't get behind the wheel.

After much eyebrow wiggling from George, Edward had given in and helped them get the bike.

Yeah...George felt awesome right now.

It was at that precise moment they hit a patch of extremely thick and slippery mud. The screams of both Heather and George were barely audible over the squeal of tyres and the bike skidded in the dirt. Time seemed to slow as Edward jumped forward stretching out and reaching for them. Grabbing their arms, he pulled them off the vehicle and towards him, catching them in mid air.

Edward landed softly with a human under each arm and then winced as the motorbike slid past them on its side. The vampire set the humans down and then regarded the pasted with mild repulsion.

"I think you just gave me a wedgie," George complained, removing his helmet and rubbing the dirt off his leather outfit.

"Thank you so much, Edward," Heather mumbled faintly, clutching at his arm for support. The vampire nodded.

"You're welcome," he replied, shooting an irritable look at his other ungrateful friend. Heather took her helmet off and staggered over to a nearby tree to be sick.

While Heather retched in the background, George strolled over to Edward's side, still grinning. Then the smile slipped away and he suddenly looked all too serious.

"But really," George said, trying to unwedgie himself and then turning back to his friend, "we'd have been hurt badly then if it wasn't for you, mate. Heather could have died. Thank you."

George nodded and started to walk over to help Heather, who was clinging desperately to the tree. Edward was surprised at the human's words. In all the time he'd known George, Edward had never heard his friend sincerely thank or apologise to anyone. But then again, when Edward had first met George, the human had been nothing but a foul-mouthed, short-tempered, bitter git with a superiority complex and hadn't care about anyone but himse—

A strange thought stuck the vampire.

"George!" Edward called out. The human turned and looked at him expectantly.

"Yeah?"

"You said 'Heather could have died.' You didn't mention that you could have died, too."

"Huh." George considered this for a moment. "I didn't. Guess it never occurred to me."

The human shrugged and then immediately focused his attention on Heather, holding her hair away from her face and patting her back as she continued to retch and gag.

Edward simply stared.

When Heather had recovered, she tottered over to Edward and smiled wearily at him.

"Looks like we're walking," she said, looking relieved.

"Walk?" George cried, horrified. "Walk? Good Lord, woman; where's your sense of laziness? Human beings are perfectly designed not to walk anywhere!"

Heather stared at him, saying nothing. Edward decided her lack of words summed up his feelings on the matter quite nicely.

"Besides, we have a functioning Edward at our disposal," George continued, failing to notice the stony glares his friends were giving him.

"I can't run at high speeds and carry both of you," Edward interjected, rolling his eyes.

"You won't need to carry us both, Edward, because only Heather will get to cling to the back of a rocket-powered, blood thirsty marble statue today."

"And what about you?" she inquired, eyes narrowing.

"I'm using the motorbike."

"I just saved you from flying headfirst into a tree," Edward growled. "You are _not_ going on that thing again."

"I am riding on a God damn motorbike to that hospital whether you like it or not," George snapped back.

"Well, I won't save you this time if you crash."

George shrugged and strode over to the bike and pulled it upright, sitting on it.

"Look at it this way," he said cheerfully. "If I die, you'll get some peace from the gay jokes."

"I'm overjoyed. Truly."

"Glad we had this talk." George put his helmet back on and revved up the bike. "Cheerio!"

The bike sped away, sending a flurry of damp leaves up into Edward's face, sticking in his hair and settling on his shoulders. The vampire sighed and gestured for Heather to climb on his back.

"I hope he crashes," he muttered. "I really do."

* * *

The hospital was one of the largest buildings in Fork, made of old brick and styled in a tasteful, classic way. Trees surrounded the lofty structure and cars filled most of the spaces on the site. No one was outside on that night, preferring to avoid the cold and damp. Had there been people in the parking lot, they would have noticed a pale boy taking two companions up the building, one at a time.

"Watch and learn, princess," George said, opening the window on the roof and tossing a rope down into the dark. Heather shivered at the blackness while Edward glowered at the comment. George passed the vampire the other end of the rope to hold, saluted, and then started to scale down the rope.

Only when he had let go of the roof completely and hung in the air did George realise that his female form seriously lacked upper body strength.

The rope slid fiercely between his hands, burning them, while the ground began to shoot towards him at an uncomfortably fast speed. Before he could open his mouth to scream, he let go of the rope and his face greeted the floor in a somewhat painful manner.

Edward leaned forward to the open window, looking down at the crumpled form of George on the floor below.

"I watched," he called down to his friend. "But I don't think I learned anything. Care to repeat that well-executed demonstration?"

George groaned something that sounded like 'fuh ofph' and then pulled himself unsteadily to his feet. His hands were stinging, so he glanced at them before whimpering. They were red and raw from rope burn, courtesy of him removing his motorbike gloves to help him climb down the rope easier.

The lights in the corridor flickered on and a man dressed in a white coat entered, too busy checking over a clipboard to notice the intruder. George, however, panicked at the sight of the stranger. He had to get out of sight as quickly as possible.

George threw himself into a forward roll behind a set of hospital equipment trolleys, certain he had avoided being seen. The delusions of grandeur were cut short when George came out of his ninja-style roll across the floor and straight into the medical trolley, head butting it. Pretty stars danced across his vision as the world spun violently and empty syringes and sample pots rained down around him.

"What is he doing?" Heather asked, watching, as George lay flat on his back, moaning loudly.

"His usual Saturday night," Edward muttered, rolling his eyes.

"What the hell?" the stranger cried as George scrambled to his feet, swaying. "This ward is closed for cleaning. What are you doing here? Are you lost?"

"I almost hate to do this to you, mate," George said weakly, raising a fist and aiming a punch at the poor man. The doctor blinked and stepped out of the way, sticking out his foot so that George tripped over it and went soaring down the corridor, sliding neatly along the polished tiles.

"Oh for the love of..." Heather took hold of the rope. "Keep a good grip on the end, Edward. I don't want to botch this up like the amazing Mr. Wonderful down there has."

Edward nodded, approving of her scornful tone. He watched as she made her way down the rope with controlled ease, before swinging off it and silently gliding through the air towards the oblivious doctor like a deadly bird of prey.

The doctor was confused. The only thing he had been here for was to check that everything was clean and that all the equipment was present. Now there was a strange girl in motorcycle leather throwing punches at him when all he'd tried to do was help her.

His day was not about to get any better.

Hearing a noise behind him, the doctor turned just in time to see Heather twist her elbow into his face. She followed it up with a knee into his stomach, knocking the wind out of him, and then delivered a well placed jumping snap kick to his chin, sending him tumbling into black.

George's jaw dropped with the doctor's unconscious body. By this point, Edward had jumped down quietly from the ceiling window, strolling over to his two friends at a leisurely pace.

"In hindsight, we should have let Heather go first," the vampire commented, his tone thoughtful. George glared but said nothing, his pride currently in tatters.

"I've been doing karate for a few years," Heather explained, offering a hand to help George up. He sulkily accepted it. "I passed my brown belt exam a few months ago."

She paused, her eyes widening.

"Where the hell did that come from?" she whispered, looking scared. "I...I don't remember any of that."

George shrugged, clutching a hand to his bruised forehead.

"Maybe you're finally being characterised now that you're making your own way in the story. By my reckoning, you'll suddenly 'remember' or 'discover' things about yourself you didn't know before as you become more complex."

There was a long pause while the trio considered such a strange concept. George cast a glance at the vampire.

"Take Edward's heterosexuality, for example. That's a new feature."

* * *

As it turned out, rolling around and acting suspicious had not been the best way to get through the local hospital. Once Heather had started kicking George in the shins every time he tried to dive away at the sight of a nurse, they moved through the building with no trouble at all. In less than twenty minutes, they had located their goal.

"Hmm." Edward tilted his head. "I'd have thought the storage of donated blood would be much better guarded than this...and better set up, too."

"Blame your author," George said, opening one of the cheap kitchen fridges and taking a blood pouch out, pressing it to his aching forehead. "She never paid much attention to detail outside of Bella loving you because you're pretty...and you loving her because she smells nice."

Heather and Edward stared at George. He shrugged at them. "That's the best way I can put it."

"Right." Edward shook his head and began opening the white, plastic fridges, taking the pouches of blood out and putting them into a rucksack he had brought with him.

While the vampire stocked up on his dinner for the next six months, George and Heather sat outside of the room to keep watch for hospital staff.

* * *

Stephenie Flyer sat alone in her living room, a glass of wine in her hand; red, like blood. How could Bella betray her like this..._hate_ her like this? The author wasn't even sure if she wanted to finish what she'd started with George. What was the point? Her world had ended anyway. George had ruined Edward, ruined Bella, ruined her book...

It all led down to George. He was the instigator of the entire mess. It gave Stephenie much delight to know that he couldn't escape the fate that was laid out for him. Whether he liked it or not, he was _her_ character now. He just didn't know it yet. And now that he had corrupted her beloved Bella and Edward, they would have to go, too. But George deserved to be dealt with before them.

The first sweet strike back would happen soon, right in a place that he hadn't believed existed: at least in himself.

But Bella and Edward...what could Stephenie do to them?

The sound of broken glass made the author jump, but she didn't move from her seat.

_Let them come,_ she thought. _Let them come for they can do nothing to stop what I've created. I am a god._

Lauri and Sarah strode into the room, both wearing military uniforms (one in leather, the other standard fabric) and looks that could kill.

"You," said Lauri, stepping forward and using her riding crop to whack Stephenie's wine glass out of her hand and onto the cream carpet. "You're responsible for what happened to George. We want him back."

"Or else," Sarah added, holding something that looked like a metallic pear with a turning handle.

"What would you do to get him back?" Stephenie asked, her voice laced with poisonous sweetness.

"Anything," Sarah growled, turning the handle of the disturbing pear-shaped object. It made a squeaking noise like nails on a chalkboard and expanded out slightly. It was then Stephenie saw an opportunity to teach Bella a lesson.

She took it.

"Well, you can't get anything from me," the author replied cheerfully. "If you want him back, you have to remove the factor that is keeping him in my book."

"And what's that?" Lauri was suspicious.

Stephenie told them. Sarah snorted with laugher.

"You expect us to believe you? You! You're the enemy!"

"Do you know what will happen if you don't get him out in time?"

Both Lauri and Sarah shook their heads. Stephenine stood up and gestured for them to follow her. Confused, the girls walked with the author to her study and waited as she scrolled through her documents to find the story plan that had appeared in her files as the self-writing document had become more complex. Apparently, the invisible author of the world George was trapped in worked with the same mindset as Stephenie. They had planned his fate long before she'd ever thought of it.

All it required was for her to insert the final insult right at the end. What had been decided for George couldn't be changed (as Stephenie had discovered when she'd tried to add a few humiliating elements to some of the things he'd gotten up to), but she could certainly rub salt in the wound.

And by God, what a wound it would be.

Stephenie showed the plot outline to Lauri and Sarah, feeling a small amount of pleasure at the horrified expressions on their faces.

"So either he'll..." Lauri began, her voice trailing away and leaving her sentence unfinished.

"Or he'll have to..." Sarah couldn't bear to say it. She glanced at Stephenie. "So we have to...to do that to get George back?"

Stephenie nodded earnestly. In reality, she had no idea what would release their stupid friend, but she didn't care either. She only hoped what she'd told them really didn't get George out of the story or else she would be robbed of her final victory over the bastard.

The two girls looked at each other.

"We'll do it," Lauri said finally, her face pale.

* * *

Edward sniffed at the plastic cup filled halfway with blood. His features contorted into a look of utter disgust in an instant.

"Bad blood?" Heather asked him. Edward shook his head.

"Cold blood. I had forgotten how terrible it is. It needs heating up, otherwise it's repulsive."

"Easily solved!" George cried, picking up the nearest blood pack and putting it in the microwave.

"Uh, George? I don't think that's a good idea."

George ignored Edward and pressed a few of the buttons before shutting the door. The microwave lit up and hummed away as the blood pouch spun slowly on the revolving glass plate inside. The vampire shook his head in irritation and stalked away, leaving Heather and George alone.

There was a long, awkward silence. George tried to concentrate on watching the blood pouch slowly begin to bubble and wonder if Edward was right after all, but couldn't help himself stealing glances at Heather.

She was so..._pretty_.

He suddenly realised he was staring at her and flushed at the same time she did. Heather coughed, not looking at him.

"So...uh...are you really, y'know, a guy?" she ventured. George nodded.

"Like I said, I've been put in the body of this book's female lead."

"I know but it's just...so strange. I mean, when I think of you, I think of and feel for a guy. But when I look at you, you're a girl."

Heather stopped, aware she had just admitted she was attracted to him. She glanced up at her friend to see that he wore an expression of shock. In the background, the blood pouch was beginning to inflate, but she paid little attention to it.

"You do?" he asked weakly, paling.

"Well, it's just...you know...it's not...or maybe...I..yes. Yes, I do."

_Smooth, Heather_, she thought to herself, cringing. To her surprise, George smiled.

"Would you be upset if I said I felt the same...minus the whole gender confusion thing, of course?"

Heather shook her head and grinned widely back. Then a thought occurred to her.

"You're breaking out of this book. You're going to leave me behind in the end, George."

George chewed his lip and then walked over to her, holding her hands in his.

"I promise, I'll find a way to take you with me," he said, completely serious. "I promise I won't go without you. You'll leave this book the same time I do."

"Don't promise that." Heather scowled. "You don't know if there's any way you can keep it."

"I'll find one. I'm not going to abandon you."

Heather looked into his eyes and saw two things. Firstly, that they were filled with nothing but honesty. Even though she knew there was a chance he couldn't save her, she trusted him to do everything he could. That was enough for her.

The other thing she noticed about his eyes was that they were no longer brown. They were green.

Maybe they had always been green and she just hadn't noticed? Of course, it was becoming difficult to concentrate on what colour his eyes were when he was so close to her, touching her hair, hesitating, leaning in, his lips brushing softly against hers—

Heather's thoughts were cut off as George kissed her.

A loud bang snapped them out of their moment of romance as the blood pouch reached its limit and exploded gloriously inside the microwave. George jumped violently and accidently smacked Heather in the nose with his chin, sending her staggering back. As he checked to see if she was all right, red began to drip down from the crack of the door, making a steaming puddle at the base of the microwave.

"I'm not cleaning that up!" Edward yelled from the other room. George ignored him, well aware the kitchen would stink of burning blood for the next week or so.

"Are you okay?" he asked her, worried.

"I think so," Heather mumbled, clutching at her nose. George clapped a hand to his forehead, embarrassed. Looked like he was gaining Bella's clumsiness or something, given the amount of times he'd injured himself and others in one day.

"Sorry," he muttered, turning to deal with the microwave. Heather caught his arm and pulled him back towards her.

"Take two?" she asked, her cheeks pink.

George grinned.


	10. New and Improved?

**Thursday: 12.43am**

Rain ran down the windows in rivets, leaving behind watery trails for their comrades to follow. It rained often in the area even though Forks had been left behind hours ago, but today it felt as if the world despaired with him. Grey overcast set the mood, suffocating all happiness from the sky and leaving it choked with heavy misery. He watched his reflection in the car window – his false, feminine reflection – barely noticing the landscape sweeping by as they sped down the highway.

He had never known emotions such as this; it left him numb and unable to think. To think now would be dangerous. He just wanted to act, to take vengeance...or to end it all. What he wanted, he couldn't decide. Everything was muddled. He knew only one thing: he was alive.

He was alive and he hated himself for it.

"George?"

George ignored the voice behind him, instead studying his own imagine in the glass once again. He looked gaunt and pale – a hollow shell that had long stopped living. His body was just going through the motions.

"George, please talk to me."

George turned now, facing the being opposite him. He could not bear to call it a person any longer.

"Yes?" he asked, his voice monotonous.

Edward flinched. His friend – if he was even worthy of that title any longer – looked terrible. To say he appeared to be dead was an understatement, skin the colour of sour milk, dark shadows under his eyes, and bruises on his face and arms. Leaves were in his hair, mud smeared on his clothes and body, and he reeked of sweat and vomit.

"George, I..." The vampire was at a loss at what to say. What _could_ he say? "I'm sorry." Edward cringed inside at the pathetic comment. Sorry didn't cover it, but George clearly wasn't prepared to listen to anything longer than a sentence from him.

"Sorry?" Life filled George's words now and his eyes – once dull and devoid of awareness – brightened with fierce anger. "You're _sorry_? I suppose that makes everything better now, does it?"

The venomous tone surprised even George himself. He paused looking the creature up and down.

"I guess this is what Flyer wanted, isn't it?" He turned away from Edward, staring out of the window again. "The lead female isn't meant to hate you, is she?"

"Hate?" Edward's voice cracked. His friend...his only friend...hated him? Of course, he had read George's mind and knew exactly what he thought of him, but still...Edward _had _hoped he'd made a mistake when tapping into the human's head...

"What did you expect?" George growled, refusing to turn around. "That I'd forget all about it and everything would go back to the way it was? I will _never_ forgive you for this."

Edward said nothing, simply staring down at his hands in silence. There was a long moment of quiet, stretching out into an eternity.

"But..." George began, contemplating his words. Edward glanced up, hopefully.

"Yeah?"

"...I'll never forgive myself, either."

* * *

**Wednesday: 11.07am**

"George?"

George's eyes flickered open and he looked down to the source of the voice. Heather was cuddled up to him, smiling, eyes shut. She had suggested it would be safer for her to share a bed with him...and he hadn't disagreed at all. Nope. It was definitely safer for her to sleep in his bed with him all night long. Duh.

"Sleep well?" he asked, smiling at her. She nodded, yawning, and then curled up in the nook of his arm, putting her head on his shoulder. George felt a strange warm sensation in his chest; he was unable to decide whether he liked it or not. Shaking his head, he ignored it.

"George?" Heather murmured again, opening her eyes this time. "Do you miss the people back home?"

George considered this for a moment. He hadn't really thought much about his family since he'd arrived in Twilight, but his friends had played on his mind quite a lot.

"There were a lot of girls I fooled around with, but I have a few good friends," he said finally. "Lauri and Sarah in particular helped me out a lot...I miss them terribly, though they probably don't miss me. I was never a very good friend."

"Why not?" Heather pushed herself up onto one elbow, curious.

"Selfish, inconsiderate, and a big ego."

"But...that's what makes you _'you'_," she replied, now confused. "Surely they already knew that you were like that, right?"

"People change," George said, shrugging. "I don't know whether they had tired of me completely when I left, but the fact of the matter is, you can only put up with someone's flaws for so long...and I had some pretty big flaws. Still do. I don't appreciate people. They're better off without me."

Heather stayed silent, unsure how to follow up George's speech.

"Although..." George said suddenly, brow furrowed with thought. "They did like to remind me about the STI incident whenever the opportunity arose. That wasn't fun."

Heather stared at him in utter disgust. "STI? My God, you're _diseased?"_

"What?" It took George a moment to realise what he'd said. "Oh, shit, no! It stands for the Strawberry Trifle Incident! Sorry, I forget that you're not familiar with it."

"The...Strawberry Trifle Incident?"

"Yeah...Lauri wouldn't keep balloons in the house anymore because of it."

"Uh...want to tell me what happened in this...incident?"

"Well, let me put it like this: I've never been able to look at a banana the same way since."

"_Wha—?"_

"And don't even get me _started_ on goats."

"Hey, you two." Edward appeared on the windowsill looking serious.

"Shit!" George cried, jumping and turning to face the vampire too fast, causing him to tumble backwards out of the bed, dragging the duvet with him. Heather grumbled, disgruntled that he had yanked his arm out from her so roughly that she'd hit her head on the bedpost. Edward arched an eyebrow while George cursed and struggled to detangle himself from the sheets.

"While you fight your epic battle for the good of all mankind," Edward drawled, rolling his eyes at the clumsy human, "I have some news I need to discuss."

"Bite me, vampy," George replied, voice muffled from the duvet, which had somehow ended up wrapped around his head.

"Fine. I'll wait here for you to learn how to make a bed while the Volturi plot how to kill us."

There was a loud rip as George lost his temper and tore the quilt open from the inside. He poked his head out from the centre, his expression a mixture of annoyance and worry.

"The Volturi are on your case already? That's not meant to happen in this book!"

Edward stared.

"Just...carry on," George mumbled, waving a hand at the vampire.

"Our recent behaviour – mine in particular – has attracted the attention of the vampire community," Edward continued, ignoring the human. "While the Volturi hasn't decided whether they want to smite us yet, gossip spreads. A trio of vampires led by someone called 'James' is on the move as we speak. They're very interested in you, George."

George forced his way out of his ruined sheets and stood up. So it was following the plot of Flyer's tale after all...

"We'll have to find somewhere safe to stay. James and his lackeys are pretty dangerous...although in the original story there's no real reason why he wants to kill Bella. Will any of your vampire buddies help us?"

Edward shook his head. "Most of them refuse to speak to me anymore. They really don't like you because I'm not playing happy families with them any longer. Then again..."

Edward paused. Maybe – just maybe – _she_ would...they had always been close after all.

"I have an idea. Meet me on the outskirts of the woods at seven tonight. Either I'll have help or I'll steal my car back off Carlisle and pick you up myself. He took it away from me for refusing to leave my friends."

"Good lad," George said with a grin.

"Wait," Heather cut in, concerned. "Won't it be stupid to wait near woodland where vampires could easily get us? What if James and his friends find us before you're back?"

Edward shook his head. "If they get here before we leave, then it doesn't matter _where_ you are. They _will_ find you and they _will_ kill you. They outnumber me, so if I don't find some help soon, then it wouldn't even matter if I were with you. They won't be here for a few days, hopefully, so it'll be safe for now."

Heather nodded as George sat down on the end of the bed.

"I'll see you tonight," the vampire said, before jumping off the window ledge and out of sight.

* * *

**Wednesday: 6.56pm**

"Can I ask you something?" Heather said as she walked with George towards the meeting point.

"Sure, go ahead." He shrugged and nodded at her.

"You mentioned...girls you'd fooled around with this morning. Can you tell me about them? I'm...curious."

"Sure!" George replied, cheerful of such a pleasant subject. "Hell, I could talk about that all day. I mean, this is going to sound like boasting, but I've had just about every good looking girl in my college."

Heather blinked, not expecting such a blunt start.

"Amber, for instance...man, she was _easy_. A lot of the girls I've been with were, but she was definitely the most eager for some fun. The only reason I bothered with her, really, besides her massive—"

"What?" Heather stared at him, clearly horrified. "What the _hell?_ You sleep with girls because they're _easy?"_

"Well, yeah." George was confused. "Why else would I sleep with them?"

"Because you genuinely cared about them, maybe?"

George stopped and stared at her, arching an eyebrow. "You don't have to care about someone to have sex with them, Heather. What's your problem?"

"My problem," Heather snarled, scowling deeply at him, "is that you move between girls and treat them like objects. How would _you_ like it if I'd been sleeping with girls like they were nothing before you?"

George considered this a very stupid question.

"Well, firstly I'd be pleased that you're happy to sleep with other girls given my current situation," he retorted, glaring back at her. "...and hey, it's extra experience on your part. Good times, no?"

Heather snorted and rolled her eyes. "And I suppose I'm just the next girl to fool around with until you get bored?"

"...What?"

"Oh, come _on_. You act like you're such a 'player.'"

"I like sex just as much as the next guy." He stared at her, bewildered. "Why is that such a big issue?"

"Because I'm not some easy girl you can use and then drop when you feel like it."

George kicked at the dirt in frustration, sending up a spray of leaves and grit. If he'd wanted that, he would have tried it the previous night when she'd stayed with him. But he hadn't and still had no intention of doing so. She needed to get off his back.

"I wouldn't do that to you, so do me a favour and grow the fuck up."

Heather's eyes widened and George felt uncomfortable. Then she shook her head and stormed away, her face red with fury. George began to regret his sharp comment.

"Heather, wait—" he started, but she waved a hand back at him without looking and carried on walking. George sighed and let her get a little way ahead before walking so she could have her space.

As he rounded a corner, jogging to keep Heather in his sight, he spotted Edward in the distance. George called out to the vampire, waving frantically. His friend flitted over to Heather, talking to her briefly, and then suddenly appeared by George's side.

"What's up with Heather?" he asked, his features twisted in confusion. George quickly explained and then scowled when Edward laughed in his face. "You know, she _does_ have a point. You only told her you liked her yesterday and I still found her in your bed this morning."

"Hey!" George spluttered, his face turning an impressive shade of red, "it wasn't like that! She just didn't want to disappear again! We didn't do anything, I swear!"

"_Sure_, I believe you," Edward sang, enjoying teasing the human. Then he stopped as he saw George's face drop. "...You actually care, don't you?"

"I can't quite believe it either," George muttered, staring after Heather longingly. His chest hurt.

Edward tilted his head, a smirk forming on his lips.

"It sounds like you love her."

"Love?" George laughed a little too loudly. "How could I love her? I've only know her for a short time and we only admitted it yesterday and, uh, and well she's pretty, yeah, but love doesn't base itself off looks; she'd have to be funny and cute and smart and talkative and amazing and...and...fuck."

Edward smiled.

"Go talk to her, idiot." The vampire gave George a gentle push, which was the human equivalent of a heavyweight boxer punching him square in the back. George flew forward, landing in a heap on the ground with a yell.

Heather glanced over her shoulder to look. She watched as George dragged himself to his feet and then turned away sharply, pretending she hadn't turned around at all. George ran over to Heather, fighting the urge to snap at her as she ignored him.

"Heather, please, will you listen for just five minutes?"

She whirled around to face him, eyes flashing with fury.

"Five minutes," she hissed, but then cried out as she stepped back and tripped over a tree branch, falling back onto the floor with a bump. George knelt down and held his hand out to her, concerned. She reached out to him, her cheeks flushed red, and then grumbled when she saw the deep gash in her arm caused by a jagged rock. "I'm bleeding. Do you have any tissues?"

George shook his head and began to take his jacket off, intending to use it to press against the wound.

A terrible and inhuman snarl ripped through the quiet of the night.

Both Heather and George looked up sharply to the source of the noise. Edward stood frozen in the distance, gaze locked intently on Heather. His whole body moved as he breathed heavily, mouth open as drool slid down from his razor-sharp fangs. Even though Edward was not nearby, George could see the colour of the vampire's eyes shifting.

George glanced back at Heather's cut arm, heart in mouth. She was in grave danger. He had to protect her.

"Heather," he said, keeping his voice as steady as he could manage. "When I tell you to, I want you to get up and run. Is that clear?"

Heather nodded, trembling violently as Edward's breathing began to quicken. George grabbed her arm and squeezed it so her blood trickled steadily into his hand. He didn't care what happened to him; he just wanted to distract the vampire long enough for Heather to escape.

"I'm going to stand up now. When I shout at him, run and don't look back."

"But what about you?"

"I'll be fine, I promise. I'm not the one who's cut. Just run and don't stop, okay?"

"Okay," Heather replied, tears of terror beginning to well up in the corners of her eyes. George slowly got to his feet, careful not to spill any of the blood cupped in his hand. He stared at Edward, absolutely petrified at what he was about to do.

"Back off!" George bellowed, stepping forward and throwing the handful of blood into Edward's face. The vampire threw himself forward as red spattered across his pale features, not noticing Heather scrambling to her feet and sprinting away. Edward didn't know whom the blood belonged to, only that one of them was injured. In one swift moment, he grabbed George by the throat and lifted him clean off the floor, slamming him into at tree and pinning the human there with his powerful grip.

George gasped and clawed at Edward's hands, keeping his wits about him enough to see that Heather was making good progress in running. It occurred to George that he was probably going to die there on the spot, but somehow...it didn't matter. So long as Heather escaped, then everything would be fine. Everything—

Everything stopped being fine as Edward opened his mouth and lunged at George's neck. He screamed in fear, powerless to hinder the knife-like teeth that were aiming for the blood vessel at the base of his throat.

Almost as suddenly as the vampire had moved, he paused, fangs halting at the point of brushing against George's skin. Edward slowly brought his head back, eyes wild and unseeing. All he was interested in was the kill, the blood on his lips tasting decidedly...female.

Behind him, frantic footsteps were growing fainter with every second. His real prey was escaping.

"Clever," he said, the word pronounced quick and harsh.

"Edward, please," George pleaded, his voice restricted by Edward's fingers to little more than a whisper. The vampire did not reply, but instead threw back his head and let out horrific, mutilated shriek into the dark sky. It echoed out into the cold air, sending chills down George's spine.

Edward's head snapped towards Heather's direction, who had nearly reached the corner of the dirt path. Without even glancing at George, he tossed him aside like a ragdoll and instead sprinted after the girl.

As George soared through the air, the weightlessness making him feel like a wandering ghost, he saw Edward gain on his kill in less than a second. He took hold of her hair with one hand and her face with the other, fingers digging deep into her flesh. Her muffled screams tore into George, hurting him more than he ever thought he was capable of.

"Heather!" he yelled, losing sight of her as he descended. He hit the ground with an unpleasant thump and bounced back up into the air, pain flooding through his body. When he fell back to the earth again, he struck his head and remembered no more.

* * *

**Wednesday: 8.29pm**

Alice sat in front of the mirror, fixing up her hair, preparing to pack and leave. While she didn't like Edward's new friend 'George', Edward was still her brother and she loved him dearly. The only thing that concerned her was that she could no longer read his future. It was as if he had ceased to be a part of this world somehow. Still, Edward had seemed desperate. How could she refuse to help him?

Her bedroom door was flung open, the handle bashing into the wall and taking a chunk out of the plaster. Alice stood up and whipped around, surprised by the sudden disturbance.

A figure stood in her doorway, breathing heavily as red drool dripped down from their mouth...and were those _fangs?_ Their skin had a scarlet sheen to it, with streaks of mud on its cheeks, arms, and hands. Blood drenched their clothes, leaving smears of red on Alice's floor as the person moved towards her. Alice squinted, the light from the hallway casting the stranger in shadow. Then her mouth dropped open.

"Edward?" she gasped.

* * *

**Wednesday: 8.48pm**

Pain.

God, the pain.

It hurt to open his eyes, so he kept them shut, the roaring silence deafening him. He just wanted to sleep – to slip away from the agony and wrap himself in the warm black...

_Heather_.

George forced his eyes open, a burning spreading through his head, the stars of the night dancing wildly about as if he was spinning on the spot.

"Stop moving, please," he begged, but the pinpricks of light only leapt about faster. It was making him nauseous. It was...

George rolled onto his front as his mind warped the world around him and vomited into the dirt, heaving endlessly when there was nothing left in his stomach, before trying to push himself away. His arms held his weight for barely a few seconds and then gave way, causing him to fall face-first in his own sick. He lay in it for a while, rational thought fighting a losing battle against the pain, the bitter taste of vomit and mud mixing in his mouth as he gurgled pathetically in it.

_Heather_.

"Heather," he mumbled, bile-laced spit bubbling at his lips. With effort, he raised his head – trying to ignore the sickening sensation of the scenery whirling around – and glanced about for her. A figure lay motionless in the grass not far from him. It looked as if it was her size and shape.

"Heather." George gently lowered his head and shut his eyes, attempting to block out all the bad. He had to get to her. He had to see if she was alright.

Raising an arm unsteadily, George reached out and dug his fingers into the earth, getting a firm handhold. Then, with difficulty, he pulled himself forward. Again and again he used the dirt and his own sheer willpower to drag his wasted self down the path, desperate for it to be her, but praying it was not.

The first thing he felt when he touched the stranger's arm was icy cold, which gave him a weak sense of hope. Perhaps somehow the vampire had fallen and lay here, not chasing their prey and—

He tugged at the person and they tilted towards him, removing all doubt of identity. Heather's lifeless brown eyes gazed endlessly at him; her mouth was slack, her skin grey-white. She had been completely drained of all her blood.

"Heather?" George whispered, shaking her shoulder. "Heather, please...please answer me."

Heather did not reply. George felt himself being pushed to the edge, her eyes staring at him so...

"Stop it, Heather," he murmured, finding the strength to sit up. "This...this isn't funny. Stop it. Stop...stop _staring _at me. Aren't you listening to me? Stop it staring...I said stop it!"

He screamed his last words, the harsh sounds ripping into his throat and leaving a burning sensation behind. With the new pain came reality, reasoning...logic. God, how he wish he'd left them behind.

"I promised...I promised I wouldn't leave you. I promised I wouldn't abandon you."

George carefully took her into his arms and cradled her, closing her eyes and stroking her black hair.

"I won't let go, Heather. I'll stay with you, like I said. Stay with you, stay with you, stay with you..."

He murmured the words over and over again, never stopping, never missing a beat, afraid that if he did, he would leave. Afraid that if he did, he would let go.

The car squealed to a halt, stopping inches away from George. He ignored it, clinging to his sanity desperately, both physically and mentally. He could not let go. He couldn't. God help him if he did. God help him, God help him, God help—

A car door opened.

"George?"

The human looked up, his face streaked with tears and blood. A young, female vampire stepped out of the car, holding her hand out to him.

"George," Alice repeated, features marked with shock and worry. "You have to come with me. _Now_."

George clung to Heather's body, holding her up against his chest. "I'm not leaving her."

"She's dead," Alice said softly. "There's nothing you can do for her now."

"But I promised!" George wailed. "I promised her I wouldn't abandon her!"

Alice wracked her brains trying to think of a way to persuade the human into her car. She knew right now the initial shock was causing George's behaviour, but if they didn't hurry, someone would eventually find them.

"She's abandoned you," Alice said finally, deciding to use the harsh approach as much as she disliked it. "Let her go."

She watched as the human glanced down at the dead girl, seemingly having some sort of internal battle over what to do. After what seemed like an age, he leaned forward and placed a soft kiss upon her cold forehead. Then with deliberate care, George slid her body from his lap and laid her on the ground with her hands folded across her chest. Alice turned away respectfully and waited for him to finish.

George eventually pulled himself to his feet, swaying dangerously. Alice moved forward and caught him before he collapsed.

"I've got you," she said, helping him over to the back seat of the car. The door opened and Edward leaned out, offering his hand to the human. George froze, lips trembling.

"_You_," he snarled and then suddenly tried to throw himself at the vampire, fists flying. As Alice held George back, one of his hands caught Edward in the chin. A crunch sounded as the bones in George's fingers broke like twigs, but he barely seemed to notice, instead clawing out at the vampire in an attempt to gouge out his eyes.

"George!" Alice hissed, pulling him away. "I don't know what happened, but it has something to do with you. Edward would never attack at human. He had his bloodlust under control!"

George settled down, his glare at Edward filled with the deepest loathing. When Alice guided him into the car and shut the door, he turned away and stared out of the window, not wanting to look at the...the _thing_ next to him.

Edward watched his friend, riddled with guilt. When the smell of blood had caressed his senses, a primal hunger that he had not experienced in some time had ripped through him, demanding his obedience. He could do nothing but follow the call of his instincts.

The vampire stared sadly after George. The human would never understand.

From nowhere, an intense feeling of hatred and anger filled the atmosphere, tainting the air with dark shades. Edward was startled, surprised at the vibrant emotions present. Alice did not despise him and he couldn't read George's mind...unless...

Edward stepped into another level of thought, the world around him becoming recognisable by colour. He sifted through the unnecessary background noise until he had pinpointed George, a blackened, rotting husk in a world filled with bright, shifting beauty. Edward was almost certain that George was the source of the negative thoughts, but he wanted to be certain. The vampire slipped into the human's head with ease.

The force that greeted him was so strong, Edward backed away immediately, letting the colours fall away as he removed himself from his friend's head. The chaos present...it was too much for him to handle. George's thoughts were undeniable. He held hatred so strong it had broken free of the boundaries of his own mind, leaking out into the world so that Edward could see it without even trying to read the human's thoughts.

Edward paused, realising something.

_He could read his thoughts._

Regardless of what had occurred, George's plan was working. It was _working_.

"We're getting out of town," Alice called from the front seat as she climbed in. "Put some distance between us and this place. It'll probably buy us time from James and his friends."

Alice's words washed over George as he continued to gaze blankly out of the window. The grating sounds tumbling from her mouth meant nothing to him. The threat of the vampire hunters meant nothing to him. Heather was dead because he'd turned Edward into a crazed monster.

Heather was dead and it was all his fault.

* * *

_A/N: I don't usually ask for reviews or opinions, but I'm curious as to what Twilight fans think of Edward acting as a proper vampire. So, if you have an opinion about the new Edward, his reaction to blood, and my interpretation of his mind reading abilities, I'd love to hear it._

_George~_


	11. Swiss Cheese

**Swiss Cheese**

"_Slowly, slowly, my thoughts started to break past that brick wall of pain. To plan. For I had no choices now but one: to go to the mirrored room and die.__"_

Bella shut Lauri's copy of Twilight, considering the words she had been destined to say. Rereading the book, she had wanted to scream to herself to stop her foolish behaviour. It may have been her mother's life at risk, but the young were not meant to die before the old. Her mother would not have wanted Bella to sacrifice herself for her.

Shivering, Bella placed Twilight on her bedside table and sat cross-legged on her bed. Her bed...for it was her bed now. She considered this world more of a home than the book had ever been. Somehow, it felt so much more unforgiving and relentless and this was why it was so refreshingly sweet: a challenge.

The door downstairs slammed, capturing Bella's interest. Lauri and Sarah were home. Maybe their 'meeting' with Flyer went to plan?

Sliding off the bed, Bella made her way out of the bedroom and downstairs into the kitchen. Her new friends were indeed home, ashen faced and sombre.

"What's wrong, guys?" she asked, trying to make her tone cheerful to counter their apparent mood dip. Lauri glanced up at her and in one moment, Bella knew there was trouble. Lauri tried and failed to speak and then shook her head, motioning for Sarah to try instead. There was a brief pause.

It all came tumbling out. What Flyer had told them. What was going to happen to George. What they had to do to save him. Bella took a step back, suddenly fearful for her life. The solution Flyer had presented, the solution Lauri and Sarah had swallowed so easily, was for Bella to die.

They were prepared to do it.

"I...I'm sorry, Bella," Lauri whispered, opening one of the kitchen drawers. "Really, I am. You're a great girl, but..."

"George is our friend," Sarah finished, shaking at what she was about to attempt. "This is the only way. He might not show it, but he cares about us...and we care about him. We're family." Sarah accepted the knife that Lauri handed her.

Bella bolted for the front door, not waiting to hear the rest of their apologies. The two girls dived after her, missing her by inches as they brandished their weapons. Bella sprinted down the main hall and reached the door, tugging at it desperately, before realising it was locked.

"Fuck!" she exclaimed and whirled around as Lauri and Sarah reached the hall. Not having time for thought, Bella threw herself into the nearby closet and yanked the door shut, holding it in place by clutching at the handle. The door rattled as one of the girls on the other side tried to force it open, and then a bang as they switched to hitting it. They were going to try and break it down.

"I am real!" Bella wailed, terrified. "I'm part of your world now! I'm not a character anymore! Why can't you see that? Why can't you see this is what Flyer wants?"

Lauri and Sarah didn't reply. They didn't want to. It was hard enough mustering the will to commit such a heinous act, never mind second-guessing their own decision. And if Flyer had misled them, they would pay her another visit and make her talk.

Bella could feel the panic rising. She had nowhere to go. All she could do was wait for them to break through and kill her. Stupid of her to go for the front door – they'd obviously locked it when they'd first come in. All there was behind was solid wall; no windows to climb out of, no—

It suddenly occurred to Bella that if she couldn't go back, she could go _forward_.

Taking a deep breath, she mustered all of her courage and then open the door outwards as fast and as sharp as she could manage, screaming as she did. There was a clunk and then a crash as someone fell to the floor. Bella dodged around the door and leapt over the unconscious body of Sarah, not giving Lauri – who was trying to stem her bleeding nose – a chance to react. She was out of the hall and back in the kitchen in a flash.

Bella knew she still couldn't run. She needed a weapon. Diving to the cupboards, Bella noted with despair that Lauri and Sarah had already taken all the sharp knives. It looked like she would have to improvise.

By the time Lauri had managed to stagger to the kitchen, Bella was nowhere in sight. She cursed and wiped at her stinging nose, smearing blood across her face. The only place out was upstairs, out of the window. Lauri took a step forward towards the kitchen exit and came face to face with a flying frying pan. The frying pan, made of a more resilient material, won the face smashing competition, and after a somewhat audible crunch, Lauri crumpled to the floor.

Bella shuffled out from behind the counter clutching the bloody frying pan, which now held a rather sizable imprint of Lauri's features in its base. She dropped it and rooted through Lauri's pockets, finding the keys for the house. Then she took hold of Lauri's legs, dragging her to the cupboard and stuffing her and Sarah inside, before locking the door with the key.

"Time to go," Bella muttered to herself and had just been inserting the key in the lock when she remembered something. She had left the copy of Twilight upstairs in her room. She wasn't sure why it was so important, but something begged her to go collect it. She _had_ to be in her room.

Right now.

Confused and somewhat curious at the same time, Bella cast a wary glance at the cupboard, before making her way through the house, up the stairs, and to her room. The book lay where she had left it on the bedside table. She approached it slowly and picked it up.

The world rocked, sending her to her knees and she shrieked in surprise, clutching the book tightly to her chest. Bella scrambled to her feet and then noticed the moon was getting brighter. Far too bright – _unnaturally bright_.

The world exploded into beautiful, deadly, white light.

* * *

George lay on the hotel bed, staring blankly up at the ceiling. In all of his life, he had never felt so empty and numb. Heather should have been with him, lying next to him on the double bed; instead, she was lying in a heap on the outskirts of a forest. He turned his head to the left, biting his lip in an effort to keep his cool, and stretched his arm out to the space where she should have been.

It was just him and Alice in the hotel. Despite Edward calling his family for help, nearly all of them had refused; they thought George was a bad influence on him. Only Rosalie, who had considered George 'fiery, for a human' had decided to assist, as well as Alice. Rosalie had gone west, hoping to lure the female vampire Victoria to her, and Edward north to force James to pick a direction to go. The vampires wouldn't know which way George had been taken, which had given Alice time to smuggle the human to the hotel. When the coast was clear, Edward would take George to a secret hiding place where they could wait out the storm and figure out what to do next.

Stuck with Edward until he found a way to get free of the book?

_Great._

A knock at the door snapped him out of his trance and he glanced at it.

"What?" he snapped. The door opened and Alice poked her head in.

"Just checking on you to see if you were alright," she said coldly. George snorted.

"I won't be 'alright' for a long time, Alice," he spat, his voice bitter. "I have your brother to thank for that."

Alice's lips thinned in anger, but she kept her temper. The human had just lost their...girlfriend? The description Edward had given wasn't clear, but she was prepared to be tolerant...or as tolerant as she could manage around such a flighty, ungrateful bitch. "Edward is flying back from Seattle as we speak. We'll meet him at the airport and—"

"Tell him not to waste his money," George interrupted, turning onto one side away from her. Alice shook her head in disgust and went to shut the door when George sat up again. "And why the hell does he need to catch a plane, anyway? He can run at some stupidly ridiculous vampire speed. Why couldn't he just have sprinted here?"

Alice opened her mouth to answer and then stopped, looking confused. George gave her a triumphant smirk. She had absolutely no idea.

Eventually Alice shook her head and left as quickly as she could. George flopped back down onto the bed and yawned. He was so tired, but he didn't want to sleep. Every time he shut his eyes, he saw images of Heather's dead and drained form emerging from the darkness of his dreams. More than once had he awoken screaming, causing Alice to dive into the room ready to fend off the vampire attackers that weren't there.

In the lounge, the phone rang. There was silence as Alice answered it and then she entered the bedroom without knocking, waving the phone at him.

George dragged himself up, snatched the phone off her without thanking her, and then sat on the bed again. Alice growled in frustration and left, slamming the door and cracking the wooden frame. Of course, he knew what was happening now. James was going to attempt to trick him into going to the dance studio alone.

"Piss off, James," George said bluntly down the phone.

"Well," the vampire replied, clearly surprised, "I admit I wasn't expecting that."

"That's nice."

James coughed down the phone before attempting to salvage what he could from the conversation. "Be very careful not to say anything until I tell you to—"

"Why? Vampires have super hearing and all that. I imagine my buddies can hear every word you're saying without even trying."

James paused, considering this. George had a point. Calling him when any normal vampire would be able to listen in with ease was a stupid thing to do. Still, he was here now. Best not to let the human know he was right.

"Now, I don't need to hurt your mother, so please do exactly as I say, and she'll be fine," the vampire continued, pretending he hadn't heard George.

"Honestly? I really don't care. Turn her into an all you can eat buffet or something. It'd pay for your plane ticket back home at any rate."

"I don't need a plane. I run. You _will_ come to the dance studio," James snarled, beginning to get irritated with the insolent human. "You can't fight what has been written for you."

Written for him? George stood up, intrigued and worried at the same time. "What do you mean, written for me? I'm not a character like you."

"One can only remain in a book for so long before they become its property."

"Less riddles more information, Captain Cryptic."

"Free will is an illusion."

The line went dead.

"What a dick," George muttered, tossing the phone into the corner of the room with annoyance.

* * *

The airport was packed. George sat on the plastic seats clutching at hotel stationary, unable to put it down. He'd had the strong urge to write a letter to Edward while he had been in his room, but had found nothing worth saying. Still, he'd taken a pen, an envelope, and a scrap of paper with him all the same.

A plan was forming in his mind.

Go to the bathroom with the double exit, run, catch a bus out of the airport, and then a taxi to the...

George sat back, horrified. Why the hell would he do that? James was waiting for him at the dance studio, ready to rip him limb from limb and turn his head into an interesting wall hanging.

His hand jerked by itself and he found himself writing a letter to Edward.

_I love you. I am so sorry. He has my mom and I have to try. I know it may not work. I am so very, very sorry._

George managed to drag his hand away from the paper, leaving a long trail of black as the pen struggled to return to its duty. He allowed the nib to touch the paper long enough for him to scribble out the awful message, and then clamped down on his hand with the other, pinning it to his leg. James' phone call suddenly came to mind.

_You can't fight what has written for you._

This was the moment in the story when Bella made her escape, leaving a letter for Edward. Only no letter existed, so now he was being forced to write one. The book was forcing him to follow the plot.

Memories flickered through his head at this realisation. No matter what he had done, he had always participated in the main events of the book: joining Forks high school, meeting Edward in Biology, going for dinner with him, the meadow, the (almost) kiss...the baseball match had even been avoided and yet he had still managed to attract James' attention. All the key points of Twilight had been fulfilled...and now he was going to continue the story. He'd never had free will, blindly acting out the life of the character he'd been assigned to.

George bent over double, unable to breathe. He would be putting himself in terrible danger and he had no damn choice in the matter. Still, if he had to have a letter...

He straightened up, took a deep breath, and began to write.

_Edward!_

_Ignore the soppy crap above. I don't love you. Whatever._

_Look, I've been played all along; I'm following the path of Bella and there's nothing I can do about it. In the story, Bella escapes to go save her mother and walks straight into James' trap. That's where I'm going now. Not what I want to do, but I can't stop it. I need you to get your ass to the dance studio Alice saw in her visions and stop him from trying to kill me. I don't want to die._

_God, this sucks._

_George_

_P.S. Tell your sister she's a shit psychic. She can see the dance studio but not me doing a runner? Jesus._

Satisfied, George placed the letter in the envelope and sealed it. He passed it to Alice.

"For Edward, when he gets here," he said primly. "I don't want to speak to him."

Alice rolled her eyes and glared at him, but kept the letter with her.

"Anyway, I need the toilet." George stood up abruptly.

"Want me to come with you?" Alice asked, sounding like she'd rather do anything else in the world but that.

_Yes!_ George screamed inwardly.

"Fuck no!" was his response. He left without a backwards glance at Alice's scowling face and went into the toilets. He leaned over the sink and looked into the mirror at his feminine features. He was fighting the urge to leave, fighting it for as long as he could, before...before...

George exited the toilets, glanced around to make sure Alice couldn't see him, and then sprinted for dear life through the airport, begging himself to stop with every step.

* * *

_A/N: For those wondering what the hell the title means, I wanted to poke at some of Twilight's countless plotholes. These particular ones all occur in the last few chapters. I missed out 'James using a recording to dupe Bella', though, because it disrupted the flow of the story._

_Judging you, Meyer. Judging you._

_George~_


	12. Vampires should Bleed

**Vampires should Bleed**

Fate loomed overhead. George wasn't too impressed with the paintwork.

Edging forward, he desperately tried to turn away from the door, but found he could not. He had to give in. There was nothing else he could do.

_Free will is an illusion._

His hand reached out while he clawed at it with the other and it grasped the handle. His fingers –which he had broken on Edward's face just before the car ride – hadn't troubled him much in the hotel, but now they ached terribly. The mechanisms inside turned, brass components working in perfect harmony. There was a click and the door swung open. A leg was lifted; a foot placed forward. The body followed.

Slam!

The door shut behind him. George swallowed, nervously. This was it; this was the result of his time in the book. Everything he had changed, everything he had destroyed...everyone he had killed...this single moment was the conclusion.

He had no control over any of it.

Somehow, this scared George more than the thought of what lay in wait for him at the top of the stairs. Being unable to run and hide but knowing he was walking into a trap was worse than facing the actual monster that lurked above.

"James," George mumbled to himself. He took a step towards the stairs, his shoes clumping too loudly against the floor for his liking. Slowly, he began to climb up, each step a deafening echo in his mind. Fear throbbed through him. He wanted to scream, he wanted to flee, he wanted to go home. He wished he'd never laid eyes on Twilight; he wished he'd never emailed Flyer, but now it was too late. Always, always, always too late...

Against his will, George walked up the flight of stairs.

* * *

Stephenie Flyer was beside herself with excitement. The day was here, the day when George Dufresne would get his comeuppance. Now all she had to do was write the next part of the story. It was peculiar, now she thought about it. The self-writing document had stopped; it seemed to be waiting for her. She could not change the outcome – that had already been decided, so it was lucky it was to her taste. However, she could add certain elements...

Cracking her knuckles, Stephenie began to type.

_In a flurry of whirlwind dust, the beautiful, slender Stephenie appeared before her characters...

* * *

_

George entered a room at the top of the stairs. The waiting vampire smiled broadly, revealing his less than threatening omnivore teeth.

The wooden floor creaked beneath George's feet as he made his way into the dance floors of the ballet studio. It was dark and murky, blinds drawn to block out all sunlight and the hum of the air conditioning above in the far reaches of the room was distracting. He couldn't listen out for James with it rattling away in the background.

All around him were mirrors. They distorted the light and twisted the space of the room, crafting copies and stretching out the world so that it carried on into eternity. Reality looped over and over again in these moving portraits of glass, and George couldn't help but think that they were the perfect metaphor for the world inside the book.

Thoughts were cut short when a dark blur moved across the room, multiplied a thousand times over by the mirrors. George spun around to face it...only to find nothing. His heart hammered violently against his chest. James was _here_...

"Well of course he's fuckin' here," he muttered angrily to himself. "You knew that when you left. Stop sounding so damn surprised!"

Out of the corner of his eye stood a figure. George glanced over at it, to see that it wasn't there. Had it ever been there? Maybe everything he'd experienced was nothing more than a crazy dream. Maybe—

A loud bang sounded behind him. George's self-control snapped.

"Stop it!" he yelled, whirling around in a desperate attempt to face the vampire. From the dark depths, there was a laugh. The blur was more frequent now, weaving in and out of the air of the room, getting closer with each passing second.

Suddenly, James appeared in front of George, his face inches away.

"Hello," he said silkily, and grabbed the front of George's shirt, flinging him across the room. He hit the floor with a crash and bounced, before landing heavily again and skidding the remainder of the way. He moaned as his arms began to burn: the friction of the smooth, wooden floor had taken layers of exposed skin off.

As James took a step forward, however, a voice echoed through the room, forcing him to stop.

"Wait, my child. Let me speak with him."

If the vampire was surprised, he didn't show it. He merely stopped and bowed his head, silent. George scrambled to his feet, wondering what the hell was going on.

In a flurry of whirlwind dust, the beautiful, slender Stephenie appeared before her characters, wearing a flowing dress of soft, white, partially transparent material. Her body could be seen through her garments – long, shapely legs, curved hips, and small, perfect breasts pressing against the cloth.

Her skin was the colour of fine ivory, her hair wild and dark, like raven feathers. Large rubies rested in the silver hollows of a choker necklace bound tightly to her throat and she wore many beautiful, gem encrusted bracelets at her wrists. Her eyes were two pieces of chipped amber, twinkling brightly in the dim light. She was the queen of all vampires: their creator and their leader. She—

"Hey," George said, rubbing the back of his head where he had just banged it. "You look like me – like Bella, I mean. And what's with all the perfection and power? I thought I told you that Mary Sues were _bad_."

Stephenie froze mid description, apparently not expecting her prey to interrupt her introduction. For a moment, she considered continuing but then decided against it. Regardless of the delivery, this was _her_ moment, her moment of victory. She had waited so long for it and was not about to let it go.

"Victory?" George snorted, causing Stephenie to grit her teeth in irritation. "What victory? I ruined your character. I broke your world. Edward likes blood again, he can read my mind, he's still single, he hates his entire family; I see absolutely no way that you could have won this. So how about you let me go before I bring the whole Twilight book to its knees, huh?"

"You're forgetting one thing, my dear," she purred, gliding towards him. "One tiny, little detail...one easily overlooked..._snag."_

"What 'snag?' That Edward still sparkles? I reckon that's the next feature to go—"

"What happens next, George?" Stephenie interrupted with a wolfish smile. "When James bites Bella, what happens?"

"Edward saves her," George snapped back. "Whatever you've planned, you can't fight your own book."

"No, I can't...and neither can you."

"What are you...?" he began before trailing away. Realisation had struck him and choked his words. When Bella had been bitten in Twilight, Edward had saved her by sucking the poison out, depending heavily upon his own resistance to blood. But George had...he had made Edward into a carnivorous monster. If he was bitten by James, Edward would try to save him...and he would die.

Stephenie laughed while George's lips began to tremble in fear.

"You always had a chance of escaping here," she said, placing her hands upon her hips and regarding him with amusement. "Had you left my book unscathed, Edward would have saved you and you could have left when the story had finished. But you had to prove you were better. You _had_ to try to show _me _that you were better. In doing so, you've signed your own death warrant. If you turn into a vampire, you'll become one of _my_ characters. When the book ends, you'll fade with it...or Edward will attempt to stop the transformation and you'll die...slowly, painfully..."

'_Slowly, slowly, my thoughts started to break past that brick wall of pain. To plan. For I had no choices now but one: to go to the mirrored room and die.'_

James appeared by George's side and wrenched his arms behind his back, holding them at an awkward angle. The vampire gave a swift kick to the back of George's legs, forcing him to his knees with a bang. George yelped as the bone struck the wood and then bit his lip, trying to deny Stephenie the satisfaction of seeing him in pain. His stomach churned violently as his chest ached...and he was cold...so cold. He didn't want to die. He didn't care what he had to do, what he say...he just wanted to _live._ But maybe...maybe there was a way out of this...

Stephenie regarded him with interest.

"Well, well, well," she said softly. "Not so high and mighty when against your betters, are you?"

"No, I'm not," George agreed dully. Compliment a woman and she was your friend for life. Making Stephenie feel superior probably fell under that rule somewhere.

"When you first emailed me," Stephenie said, her voice loud and regal, "you had no idea what would happen. No idea that your arrogance and need to hurt others would be your downfall. No idea that..."

George stopped listening to her monologue and glanced around the room. Let her talk while he figured out a way to escape; at least it would buy him time.

The blinds were drawn and they weren't moving, which was bad. That meant the windows weren't open and disturbing the blinds with a slight breeze. He wouldn't have time to mess with the lock – James was a lot faster than he was. Any delay would dash all hopes he had of surviving.

The only other exit was the door, now shut. George would waste precious seconds opening it and that would be if he even made it all the way across the room in time without James catching him. And then there was the problem of actually freeing himself of James in the first place...

"Oh wow, is that Victoria strip teasing outside?" George said loudly. Despite himself, James glanced up and George prepared to seize the moment.

"Idiot," Stephenie snapped, glaring at James. "Don't let anything distract you. He'll just try to take advantage of your weaknesses."

"He's a human," the vampire snorted. "What possible advantage could he have over me?" But he held on to George tighter and forced him to look at Stephenie. She smiled at him and moved a strand of hair away from her face, wrists jingling with metal.

"Maybe I'll consider letting you live if you make a few confessions. Will you?"

George stared at her for a moment and then gave a quick nod. Make up a few lies in exchange for his life? He wouldn't need to escape after all. Besides, he had done it before...this was going to be easier than he'd dared hoped for.

"Repeat after me then." Stephenie walked over and crouched down, tucking her fingers under George's chin and tilting his head back so that he was forced to look at her. "I am sorry, Miss Flyer, for saying such horrible things to you about your book."

"I am sorry, Miss Flyer, for saying such horrible things to you about your book."

"Good boy," she cooed sweetly. "I only said those things because I am a worthless, pathetic human being who is jealous of your superior writing skills."

George repeated the words, trying to ignore the irritation that was flaring up in him. If he wasn't about to be torn to pieces, it would have almost been humiliating.

"I never loved Heather." Stephenie's eyes brightened. "I only kept her around for an easy fuck."

It felt like he had been punched in the gut. She must have known what had happened to Heather.

"You bitch," George snarled, struggling against James' clutches. If he could just reach her now, she would _wish _that she'd made her vampires into blood-crazed monsters...

"Ah, ah, ah." Stephenie waggled a finger at him as she stepped away. Perhaps he was just imagining it, but she looked nervous at his sudden change in temper. "Say it or you know what will happen."

George opened his mouth but found no words forming at his lips. His heart was beating a frenzy again and he felt the sudden need to cry. Heather...he couldn't...could he?

"I..." he began and then stopped. "I..."

"I'm waiting." The author began to tap her foot impatiently. George rocked on his knees trying desperately to say the words. They were just words, after all. They didn't mean anything. They...

No. No, they weren't.

"Well?" Stephenie demanded, arching an eyebrow. He looked up at her, struggling to find a way to say exactly what he felt. For a moment, he was silent. Then he spoke.

"I loved her," he said simply. Stephenie twisted her mouth in irritation. Her revenge had lost some of his edge. This wasn't what she had expected of George.

"Pity." Stephenie snapped her finger and James let go before pushing George, sending the human sprawling across the floor. The vampire jumped forward, landing lightly at George's feet and then crouching down. James placed a hand on George's right leg, just below the knee.

"You should have done what she said." The vampire smiled pleasantly. "Would have made things easier for you."

Before the human could reply, James pushed his hand down sharply. A loud crack shattered the still of the studio and George screamed with pure agony. He clutched at his broken leg and tried in vain to force his attacker away. James' smile didn't even flicker and took hold of the leg again, pushing on it. George shrieked and howled until his throat was raw while Stephenie wandered over.

"Pick him up," she said sharply over his cries. James grabbed George by the arms and lifted him clear off the floor, giving him a quick shake to bring him to attention. The author took hold of George's jaw, squeezing his cheeks together with her fingers. "Say it."

George moaned in response, the intense pain in his leg dulling slightly. He could barely think, let alone—

"_Say it,"_ she hissed, digging her fingernails into his skin. George closed his eyes, taking a deep breath at what he was about to do while Stephenie smirked. She had _won_; she had broken George Dufre—

George opened his eyes again and spat in Stephenie's face.

The author wiped his saliva away, livid, and then turned to James.

"Do your worst," she growled and then disappeared in a puff of smoke. James released his grip on George, letting him fall to the floor in a crumpled heap and jarring his bad leg. He reached for the video camera and held it over George, zooming in so that the human's pain-stricken face filled the screen.

"I want you to beg me, human," James said softly, placing his foot on George's leg and pressing just enough to hurt him. "I won't ask you to say such ego-filled drivel. I just want you to beg."

"Bite me," George groaned. Then his face paled as he realised what he'd said. James smirked.

"All in good time, girl." He suddenly pressed hard with his foot and George's mouth dropped open, unable make a noise. When James released him, he gasped, putting his head down against his arm.

"I can be fair," the vampire said. "If you can get to your knees and _beg_ me to let you go, then I will. If not, I'll make you suffer until you do."

He held up the camera again, the light from it nearly blinding George and placing a spotlight on him in the darkness. Heather's description of her fading from the world came to mind and his heart went to his mouth. It occurred to him that if he didn't play along, he was going to die, just like Heather did. He had finally come to terms with the situation...now he just had to get out of it. And if he did what James said, then maybe he would get out of it.

George bit his lip and breathed in deeply through his nose. The pain in his leg was terrible: sharp and splintering, coursing through his body in waves, overlapping, relentless...

Slowly, he rolled onto his left side, his good side, whimpering as he knocked the broken leg. Sweat trickled down his face, his forehead and cheeks drenched with it and he wiped his damp palms on his shirt before trying to push himself up.

The pain was excruciating and his arms gave way immediately, causing him to crash onto the floor again, screaming. He banged his chin and bit his lip, but didn't draw blood. He paid no attention to it, however, simply tearing at his leg with his fingers and howling in agony.

"Can't do it?" James asked, trying to mask his delight with forced disappointment.

"I can!" George let go of his leg and clawed at the wooden floor, attempting to pull himself up. James laughed cruelly as time and time again the human tried to force himself up, only to be overwhelmed by pain.

George collapsed, breathing heavily into the ground, sobbing. He couldn't do it. He couldn't. He couldn't, he couldn't, he couldn't, he—

James placed a foot on George's back and pressed down gently to keep him in place without breaking his spine. The human choked in surprise but didn't try to move or wriggle free. James was a lot stronger than he was. Any resistance would just bring his death on swift wings.

"What a shame," James said, leering down at the human. "I was so looking forward to continuing the hunt again."

James set down the camera on a stand, its angle perfectly framing George and the vampire. "But I grow tired of you. Your appeal as a plaything has long since worn away. And now—"

George never did hear what the now would have been, for at that precise moment, the ballet studio doors burst open, a figure stepping into the gloom. James scowled, clearly not happy about the unexpected interruption.

"Edward," he hissed. "Don't bother fighting me. I'm stronger than you. You'll never reach her."

Edward didn't reply with words, but instead let a growl escape his lips. James arched an eyebrow in surprise. The Cullen family were known for their abstinence of human blood and calm approach to their enemies. This reaction was...unusual, to say the least. Had Edward broken the Cullen family rules?

James stepped to the side. Edward mirrored him and they circled each other, sharks preparing for the kill. Neither wanted to make the first move, but both were itching for a fight. It wasn't until George tried to drag himself away, distracting James, did Edward pounce. It was as if a lightning bolt had struck the room, the crash of their bodies so loud. In one sharp movement, Edward wrenched James away from him and tossed him aside; the vampire hit the opposite wall so hard, all the mirrors in the room exploded outwards, raining down lethal shards of dazzling glass.

"Time to go," Edward said with a slight nod to his friend. George opened his mouth to warn Edward what could happen if they weren't careful, when the vampire roughly picked him up, catching his leg. Instead of a quick relay of information, George bellowed down Edward's ear instead.

"Arghhh, will you be fuckin' _careful?_"

"Shut up and hold on," Edward snapped, preparing to run. He'd barely taken a step forward, though, when James threw himself at the pair, knocking them both flying. For what felt like the billionth time that day, George bounced and skidded across the ground, before hitting the layers of glass. It sliced through his clothes and skin, leaving a trail of red along the wooden floor.

In almost an instant, James was by his side, eyes wide with hunger. He grabbed George's hand and bit him.

It took a few seconds for George to register what had happened. His mouth dropped open and he screamed in terror, clawing at James' eyes. No! No no no no no—

The venom was injected and all thoughts were lost in the fire that flooded his veins. He screeched and twisted in his glassy nest as James' teeth kept him held in one place, razors ripping into him, spilling blood everywhere. The burning was overwhelming. He wanted to die, to end it there and then, to have peace...

Edward staggered to his feet and froze, his mouth transforming into a livid snarl. He let out a deafening roar as the desire for blood overcame him. George noticed none of this, too wrapped up in his own agony.

But James did.

The vampire let go of his prey and stood up, scared for the first time since he had been turned. He had never – in all his time as a creature of the night – heard such a frightening sound. And his teeth! James could see fangs in the other vampire's mouth. Whatever Edward was now, he was no creature of this world.

James didn't have time to think after that, because his opponent flung himself towards _his_ prey.

"No!" he yelled, lashing out at Edward and knocking him back. The other vampire caught his arm and twisted it, snapping all the bones like twigs in a single motion. He batted James out of the way as if he was little more than a fly and then approached the writhing George.

But James wasn't about to give up his victim so easily. He rolled onto his feet, skidded to a halt, and then sprinted towards Edward, determined to keep his prize. Whatever Edward was now, he was not as old and strong as he was—

Edward caught James by the throat, which brought him to an immediate halt; the sudden change in force dislocated his neck. He dangled uselessly in Edward's grip, shocked, as his opponent brought back his arm. Then Edward thrust his flattened hand forward like a javelin. There was a sickening crunch as the vampire's hand forced its way through James' ribcage, through his body, bursting out through the other side.

Edward stood still for a moment, his arm embedded deep in James' chest up to his armpit. Then he dragged his limb out again in one quick motion and James collapsed to the floor, twitching.

His attention on the vampire slipped away like sand running through fingers. Edward turned to George, who was shifting in jerking movements, oblivious to the world around him. Pale with dark circles under his eyes and drool dripping from his mouth, he was littered with gashes and cuts. His skin was doused with red.

The blood...

Edward crouched down and scooped George into his arms, cradling the human. Edward could not see his companion, his only real friend. The vampire could only see food, for George was nothing more, nothing less. Humans were not designed to form bonds with vampires and vampires were not meant to care for them.

He was a predator. He was _free_.

Edward opened his mouth and bit deeply into George's neck. George jerked slightly, not feeling the pain but reacting to it all the same. He was vaguely aware of the vampire huddled over him and of the strange sensation of blood leaving his veins. He was...light. Floating away...there was no dark...only white...only beautiful, pure...

* * *

_White._

Bella cried out in pain as light filled the room and she stepped backwards and tripped over the bed, landing safely on the mattress. The light hurt her eyes so she shut them tight and buried her face in the blankets, waiting for it to fade.

She sensed the environment dimming and looked up bleary eyed to see a...boy? Yes, a teenager sat on her floor. He was holding someone in his arms.

"H-hello?" she asked. The stranger's head snapped up and she found herself staring at one of the oddest people she had ever seen. He was so pale it seemed unnatural, his hair a weird bronze colour; he seemed to be of athletic build with strong, chiselled facial features.

All at once, she knew. She _knew._ "Edward."

"George?" Edward croaked, looking confused. Bella blinked and then glanced down at the figure in his arms. It was the body of a young man with black hair, green eyes, and light coloured skin: the body _she_ had inhabited for so long. Bella jumped off the bed and ran to the mirror before gasping in surprise. She was herself again! She let her hands explore the familiar peaks of her form and relief flooded her. But if she had her body back, why was she still here...?

"George?" Edward repeated, sounding more desperate than before. Bella wheeled around to face him.

"No," she replied, shaking her head. "I'm Bella."

Edward's face fell and he gave a small nod. "I...I had a feeling you weren't him...but I...I had hoped..."

He looked sadly at the figure in his arms, silent. Bella walked over and crouched down. She leant over and closed George's green eyes and then jumped as he began to fade.

"George?" Edward sounded panicked. "What? No! George, come back!"

As he disappeared, Edward scrambled to his feet glancing about as if George had simply been moved. "No! No! It's not fair! God, it's not fair!"

At his last word, he aimed a punch at the wardrobe mirror, taking the door clean off its hinges. Bella screamed in surprise and ducked behind the bed, afraid he would turn on her next. However, there was nothing but quiet. Slowly, she peeked from around the bedpost to see that Edward had sat on the floor, back to the shattered wardrobe, clearly distraught.

"He was my friend," Edward said, noticing Bella but not bothering to look at her. "And I killed him."

Bella slowly crept forward, careful to avoid the glass scattered on the floor, and sat opposite Edward, taking his hand. "Whatever happened, it wasn't your fault. George's...friends explained what Flyer had planned. She knew it would happen and allowed it anyway. The blame lies with George and Flyer, not us."

Bella shifted closer to Edward as he nodded glumly and then noticed something peculiar. "Hey...your eyes...they're the same colour as George's."

"No." Edward shot her an irritable look. "My eyes are topaz."

"They're green. The exact same shade as George's. I just saw them!"

Edward picked up a shard of mirror and held it to his face. To his dismay, he had no reflection. George had told him about some of the 'real vampire' traits, such as no reflection. If this one was true, then maybe he would burn in the sun, too? The prospect was not appealing, but at least now...

Edward rubbed his new green eyes and stood up. Bella did the same.

"It seems..." he hesitated, wondering how to word his thoughts. "It seems we're in George's world; for better or for worse, we have freedom. He gave his life for our freedom, whether he meant to or not. We..."

Edward shook his head and took hold of Bella. He stared at her for a moment, and then leant forward, placing a gentle kiss upon her lips. When they broke apart, there was silence for a moment.

"That was my choice," he said finally. "My first real choice...my first real kiss."

"Edward..." Bella was confused. Despite it all, despite wanting to fight it, there was a certain charm about him. Not the lust filled mess that Flyer had outlined, but certainly something. "Will I ever see you again?"

Edward seemed to consider this for a moment. "Yes," he said after much thought. "I need someone in this world with me...someone who understands. Whether it will develop further..."

"We'll see," Bella finished for him. She smiled gently and to her great surprise, he returned the expression. Then he let go of her and stepped back.

"The time for grief...it is not now." Edward's eyes flicked briefly back to the spot where George had disappeared. "I have things to attend to...I need to find a home, establish hunting grounds, deal with...certain individuals."

"Individuals?" Bella felt uneasy at his words. Edward nodded.

"It's best if you don't know. But when it is all finished...I'll visit, if you'll allow me?"

Bella smiled in conformation and Edward leapt up onto the windowsill. It would be many hours until dawn. He had plenty of time on his hands.

"See you around...Bella."

And then he was gone.

* * *

Stephenie Flyer stared at the self-writing document, disappointed. When Edward had bitten George, it had stopped. Nothing had been written since. All that remained was the white, blank spaces of an unfinished page. She had hoped for a graphic description of George's death...but at least he was dead now. She had gotten what she wanted.

Still, as she stood up from her computer and made her way upstairs, she couldn't help but feel unsatisfied.

A bang sounded from her room. Stephenie ignored it. There was thunder and lightning outside, a terrible storm that had been raging for the last few days. The author rubbed her eyes and padded down the corridor in no particular rush. From the depths of the darkness came a whispering, making her jump. She glanced about, her heart beating fast, trying to find the source of the noise.

"_I am an unfortunate and deserted creature; I look around and I have no relation or friend upon earth."_

"Who's there?" she cried out, fear coursing through her. There was an intruder in her house! Her phone was in her bedroom. She could call the police. But would they get there in time?

"_I am malicious because I am miserable….You, my creator, would tear me to pieces and triumph; remember that and tell me why I should pity man more than he pities me?"_

"Why are you in my house?" Stephenie cried, her voice rising in panic. "Get out! You don't belong here!"

"_I may die; but first you, my tyrant and tormentor..."_

She ran down the corridor, the shadows twisting into the shapes of men, reaching out for her, hissing dated English into her ears. If she could just reach the phone, she'd be safe. If she could reach the phone, maybe they'd leave.

"_...shall curse the sun that gazes on your misery."_

Stephenie crashed into her bedroom and slammed the door sharply behind her, her breathing ragged. She flicked the lock, sealing her inside and staggered over to her bedside table, scooping up her phone. Then she whimpered. It had been crushed into a little ball as if it were nothing more than paper. She had to get out of the house _now_.

Turning to leave, the author ran straight into the arms of a stranger and screamed in terror, certain she was about to die. She looked up expecting to see a creature from her nightmares and then stopped, sudden warmth spreading through her very being. "Edward?"

Edward looked down at her and nodded, his features solemn.

"Oh, Edward, my love," Stephenie whispered, clutching at his damp shirt and looking up into his eyes. "I knew you existed. I knew you would come for me! I knew—"

Edward grabbed Stephenie's neck and wrenched her away from him. It was then that she noticed, too late, that his eyes were no longer topaz. They were a dark and deadly green.

"You are my creator, but I am your master," he quoted, baring his fangs. "Obey!"

Thunder struck in the distance, lightning illuminating the windows of the bedroom as dark liquid splattered the panes. Her screams were brief, drowned out by the noise of the night.

* * *

While life in the real world took a long time to adapt to, whatever had taken place inside the book, reality wanted to compromise. No one noticed George was gone; all his friends and family treated her as if they'd always known her, as if she'd always been there and not he.

Not that Bella was too bothered by this. Her family, the flat characters that had been written for her in Twilight seemed so different from her now. There was nothing left there for her...and as she had all she needed here, it only seemed fair that she take over. Even on the internet, everyone treated her accounts like George still ran them. Pretending to be a boy did have its perks.

And yet there was that niggling thought that would not go away. She felt compelled to do something, but she didn't know what.

In the corner sat the computer.

Her friendship with Lauri and Sarah was shaky at first. They had tried to kill her after all. But now...they seemed to love her. They still teased her mercilessly and made her the butt of their jokes, and yet there was true care and concern under it all. That care and concern had driven them to attack her when she had just been 'Bella' from Twilight. They often made fun that she shared a name with a bad book character. If only they remembered the truth.

In the corner sat the computer.

For months, she didn't see Edward and slowly began to forget all about him. Her classes at the British 'college' were just like the final two years of American high school. Some of the girls gave her snotty looks, but she found a few friends within the quieter people of the year. And she met a nice boy, too: David. They weren't together, but they went on a few dates, kissed a little. Nothing serious and neither took it that way.

In the corner sat the computer.

Edward returned, briefly. He told her that he no longer sparkled and couldn't walk in the day. While his reaction to the sunlight wasn't as bad as George had described, he still burned. Prolonged exposure would kill him, but he had at least ten or so hours. Bella decided not ask how he had found out the exact length of his tolerance to the sun. He nodded to her and then left again.

In the corner sat the computer.

"God," Bella muttered, rubbing her forehead with the back of her knuckles. "What is it? What am I forgetting?"

She sat down on her bed and swung her legs, glancing about the room. She had redecorated since she'd realised she would be here forever. The once blue walls had been painted over with a soothing lilac, the dark furniture swapped for light, and the wooden floor replaced with a cream carpet. She kept the games consoles, though. While Bella had hated videogames in her old life, somehow she liked them now. It seemed she had kept some of George's traits when being left in this world, and if she wasn't mistaken, her hair had gone from dark brown to black. Or maybe that was her imagination.

In the corner sat the computer.

It was then Bella finally noticed the computer. Sure, she had been on it to chat and write on Fan Fiction, but she'd never really been_ aware_ of it until now. She approached it, letting her fingers slide along the worn keyboard and then sat herself down in front of it. The screen illuminated her features in the darkness, begging her to give in to the notion she had not yet thought of.

An idea suddenly struck Bella.

Was it possible? If it was, it was the very least she could do...

Smiling broadly to herself, Bella opened a window to Fiction Press and signed into her account. Then she opened a word document and sat back in her chair, wondering how to begin. Words flitted about inside her mind, chaos at first but then falling into an orderly fashion. They were waiting to be used. Bella leaned forward and began to type.

_Sunlight streamed through the open window, the curtains pulled back to reveal a beautiful morning. It was the middle of summer, the temperature a pleasant warm, and the world was beginning to wake from a lazy slumber...

* * *

_

_A/N: To avoid putting author notes on the epilogue and spoiling its effect, I'm going to say everything that needs to be said here. I apologise for the monstrosity that is this chapter, but I couldn't find a good point to split it, sooo...yeah._

_The title is in reference to the amount of times my beta had to poke me to remind me that meyerpires don't bleed. A lot of editing and headaches caused by that small, overlooked fact, as well as some loss in effect. At least I am comforted knowing that Edward is a real vampire and can now bleed (yes he can! He can! Don't argue with me! LALALALALA)._

_The reason Edward sounds like a massive dork when confronting Flyer is because he is quoting directly from 'FrankenStein.' I figured it tied in with the theme of their encounter.  
_

_There is an epilogue to follow. If you're reading this and no epilogue has appeared yet, I may be tweaking it. Or I'm being a bastard and holding it back. Not decided yet._

_Another point on the epilogue: while I have my own ideas about it, I am leaving it entirely up to your own interpretation. I know what I think about it...but this isn't about me. It's about you, dear reader. It always has been. Take my words and use your imagination to craft them into something new. You are telling the end of my story to yourself. Make it your own._

_Thank you to all my reviewers who gave tips and pointers throughout my story. Thank you to all the reviewers who didn't. A big thank you to Lord Kelvin, whose critique was a wake-up call – his review alone helped me take this fiction towards a more plot-based structure. Thank you to those I couldn't resist telling the ending, who told me what I was writing was good and told me to continue. Your words gave me the drive needed to get this thing off the ground.  
_

_And thank you to my two betas, Ever Heard of a Dictionary, who looked over my earlier chapters, and Bitter Sea Light, who looked over the later ones. This story would have been abandoned long ago without you. LU._

_George~_


	13. Epilogue

Sunlight streamed through the open window, the curtains pulled back to reveal a beautiful morning. It was the middle of summer, the temperature a pleasant warm, and the world was beginning to wake from a lazy slumber. Birds made their first songs while a delivery boy dropped papers on the steps of every house, whistling to himself as he listened to his iPod.

Had it always existed?

George Dufresne muttered in his sleep as the rays of the new sun rested gently on his face. He scrunched his features up and turned away from the light before blearily opening his eyes. What a strange dream it had been...

_Hello, George Dufresne_

As he tried to grasp the thoughts floating lazily in his mind, they slipped away forever. He would never remember the facade that was his dream; never remember that he had been part of a different world with a different life, never remember that it had been taken from him before his time.

George would not be troubled by this, though. For the rest of his days he would happily remain in ignorance; it was bliss and would forever be his saviour. His saviour, but not something he would be aware of.

_I am your new God_

He moved now; trying to roll away from the window so that he could sleep again, undisturbed, but found his arm trapped beneath a warm, heavy object. Turning, George's jaw dropped as he saw what was holding him in place.

A girl lay on his arm, snuggled up to his chest.

_Life stolen before its time_

She was a very pretty girl of Asian origin. Her black hair – uneven in length and spiky – fell carelessly over her almond shaped eyes. Her light ochre skin was flawless and George was tempted to reach out and caress her cheek. A sudden feeling of sorrow mixed with relief washed over him, so intense for a moment he couldn't breathe. He sat up sharply, pulling her into a tight hug.

"What the—?" she cried, startled, before realising who was holding her. "George!"

"Heather," he murmured. Heather threw her arms around him, shaking. George gently pulled her away from him to see that tears were dripping from her face. "What's the matter?"

"I..." she wiped her brown eyes and shook her head. "I don't know. I just feel as if I've been...lost. Calling for you but never finding you – wanting you but being unable to see. The dark...it was...it..."

"You weren't lost." George gave in and touched her cheek. "I was always with you."

Where the words came from, he wasn't sure, but he somehow knew he was lying. It seemed to comfort Heather, though, who gave him a weak smile. She wasn't the only one having strange thoughts and feelings; the moment he had seen her he'd been overjoyed...and yet a lingering bitterness had been laced in with the sweet. George paused, trying to remember.

Grief. He had felt grief.

"George?" Heather was looking at him, concerned.

"Yeah?"

"You're...you're crying."

Crying? He rubbed at his eyes and then stared at his hand, noting it was now wet. Why was he crying?

"Sun was in my eyes; makes them water," he replied, suddenly believing it himself. Crying? Nah...he never cried. The light had just been irritating them.

_Ignorance is bliss_

Heather looked relaxed now, which was a relief...only, why was he relieved? There was nothing to be relieved about. They'd just woken up calmly in each other's arms and...and...

_Memories slipping away like sand_

Heather yawned and stretched out her arms. All had been forgotten.

"I'm tired." She considered this for a moment. "And hungry. Fancy being an awesome boyfriend and making me something while I shower?"

"I expect payment in the highest form," George replied, smirking. She grinned at him and leaned forward, placing a long kiss on his lips.

"Will that suffice?"

"What do you think?"

Heather said nothing but slipped out of his bed and sauntered out of the room, winking at him as she left.

George reflected briefly on how lucky he was to have her and then got up to make some food. A strange sensation came over him. Relief, happiness, confusion; mingled together in one muddled concoction. The experience passed as quickly as it had arrived, replaced with one absolute feeling.

_Freedom_.

He was free. Free from what, he didn't know, but he didn't care either. Free to live a good life, to spend the rest of his days with Heather. And somehow – just somehow – he _knew_ he would be happy to the end of his days.

_Spanning across dimensions, a girl sits in a chair, illuminated by blue glow. She watches the scene unfold and sets it in stone._

_She smiles._


End file.
